UC-NRLF 


The  Blodgett 
Fifth  Reader. 


&••>: 


GINN  AND 
COMPANY 


<•> 


GIFT  OF  | 


THE   BLODGETT  READERS 


A  FIFTH   READER 

BY* 

FRANCES  E.  BLODGETT 

AND 

ANDREW  B.  BLODGETT 

Superintendent  of  Schools,  Syracuse,  N.Y. 


GINN   AND   COMPANY 

BOSTON  •  NEW  YORK  •  CHICAGO  .  LONDON 


&&-rlsi^rLS 


£Ujl  IchUl^ 


Copyright,  1910,  by 
Frances  E.  Blodgett  and  Andrew  B.  Blodgett 


ALL  RIGHTS   RESERVED 


Wbt   gtfrenaum   jgregg 

GINN  AND  COMPANY  •  PRO- 
PRIETORS •  BOSTON  •  U.S.A. 


PREFACE 

The  chief  aim  in  preparing  this  basal  reader  for  use  in  the  upper 
grades  of  grammar  schools  has  been  to  make  a  collection  of  stand- 
ard literature  which  shall  appeal  to  the  interest  of  the  pupils.  Oral 
reading,  to  be  most  effective,  should  have  this  constant  stimulus.  A 
large  proportion,  therefore,  of  the  selections  included  in  this  volume 
have  that  dramatic  or  narrative  quality  which  best  holds  the  atten- 
tion of  boys  and  girls. 

On  the  other  hand,  there  are  certain  masterpieces  of  literary  art 
which,  while  they  may  arouse  no  immediate  response  from  young 
people,  ought  to  be  familiar  to  them.  A  judicious  selection  of  such 
pieces  will  be  found  in  the  following  pages. 

An  effort  has  also  been  made  to  present  typical  extracts  from  the 
work  of  foreign  writers,  and  to  establish  the  proper  perspective  in 
regard  to  literature  in  general.  History,  biography,  essays,  travels, 
and  scientific  works,  as  well  as  poetry  and  fiction,  have  all  been 
drawn  upon  for  suitable  material.  The  range  of  authorship  here 
represented  will  inevitably  broaden  and  educate  the  perception  of 
literary  values. 

It  has  been  deemed  wise,  especially  in  the  earlier  pages  of  the 
book,  to  introduce  occasionally  lessons  which  offer  few  difficulties 
of  any  kind.  These  are  not  to  be  regarded  as  below  grade,  but  as 
the  natural  resting  places  of  a  long  ascent  —  legitimate  relaxation 
after  effort. 

The  selections  from  Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich,  John  Burroughs, 
Margaret  Deland,  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  Nathaniel  Hawthorne, 
Oliver  Wendell  Holmes,  Sarah  Orne  Jewett,  Henry  Wadsworth 
Longfellow,  James  Bussell  Lowell,  George  Herbert  Palmer,  Edward 
Kowland  Sill,  Henry  D.  Thoreau,  and  John  Greenleaf  Whittier  are 

iii 

445471 


IV 

used  by  the  kind  permission  of,  and  by  special  arrangement  with, 
Messrs.  Houghton,  Mifflin  Company,  the  publishers  of  the  writings 
of  these  authors. 

Grateful  acknowledgment  is  also  made  to  the  publishing  houses 
named  below  for  the  use  of  the  following  copyright  material :  "  The 
Typhoon,"  by  Joseph  Conrad,  "  The  Way  to  Wealth/'  by  Benjamin 
Franklin,  "A  Japanese  Village,"  by  Isabella  L.  Bird,  "The  Beginnings 
of  Tennessee "  and  "  The  Surprise  of  Kaskaskia,"  by  Theodore 
Boosevelt  (G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons)  ;  "  In  the  Ice  Pack,"  by  Norman 
Duncan  (Doubleday,  Page  &  Co.)  ;  "  The  Growth  of  a  Nation,"  by 
John  Fiske,  "  Comets,"  by  Sir  Robert  Stawell  Ball,  "  Lost  in  the 
Storm,"  "The  Old  Wolf's  Challenge,"  and  a  full-page  cut  from 
Northern  Trails,  by  William  J.  Long  (Ginn  and  Company)  ;  "  Life's 
Torch"  from  Admirals  All,  by  Henry  Newbolt  (John  Lane  Com- 
pany) ;  "  Ribaut's  First  Expedition,"  by  Francis  Parkman,  and 
"  The  Flag,"  by  Denis  A.  McCarthy  (Little,  Brown  &  Co.) ;  "  The 
Way  to  Arcady,"  by  Henry  C.  Bunner,  "  The  Robin,"  by  Sidney 
Lanier,  "  The  Lantern  Bearers,"  "  The  Castaway,"  and  "  A  Night 
among  the  Pines,"  by  Robert  Louis  Stevenson  (Charles  Scribner's 
Sons) ;  "  A  Dream  of  the  South  Wind,"  by  Paul  Hamilton  Hayne 
(Lothrop,  Lee  &  Shepard  Co.)  ;  "  The  Doors  of  Opportunity,"  by 
Hamilton  Wright  Mabie  (Hall  &  Locke  Company,  publishers  of 
The  Young  Folks'  Library)  ;  "  Hatto  the  Hermit,"  by  Selma  Lagerlof 
(Ess  Ess  Publishing  Company)  ;  "  The  Things  that  Count,"  by  Clar- 
ence Urmy  (The  Outlook  Company) ;  "  The  Price  of  War "  from 
The  Human  Harvest,  by  David  Starr  Jordan  (American  Unitarian 
Association)  ;  and  "  The  Parting  of  the  Ways,"  by  Joseph  B.  Gilder 
(Harper  &  Bros.). 

THE  AUTHORS 


FUNDAMENTALS  OF  READING 

There  are  two  phases  to  be  considered  in  oral  reading :  first,  the 
mechanical  phase,  which  consists  of  correct  pronunciation  and  clear 
enunciation,  and  second,  the  artistic  or  interpretative  side  of  such 
reading. 

In  the  first  place  it  must  be  insisted  upon  that  the  reader  shall 
speak  slowly,  clearly,  and  distinctly,  giving  each  vowel  and  conso- 
nant its  correct  value. 

Careful  attention  to  these  details,  together  with  continued  prac- 
tice, will  soon  develop  good  pronunciation.  Then  the  child  is  ready 
for  the  second  phase,  the  proper  interpretation,  which  means  some- 
thing more  than  merely  saying  words.  It  means  the  bringing  out 
of  the  real  meaning  behind  the  printed  words. 

The  image,  the  idea,  or  the  emotion  contained  in  the  sentence  to 
be  read  must  be  absorbed  and  fully  measured  by  the  reader  before 
it  can  be  given  orally  for  the  entertainment  or  instruction  of  those 
who  hear. 

For  the  benefit  of  teachers  it  is  well  to  consider  briefly  a  few  of 
the  technical  principles  to  be  relied  upon  in  teaching  reading. 

Emphasis  may  be  defined  as  the  particular  stress  of  voice  placed 
upon  one  or  more  of  the  words  of  a  sentence,  and  is  the  main  prin- 
ciple used  to  bring  out  the  proper  expression  in  oral  reading ;  but 
to  secure  this  no  formal  rule  can  be  given.  It  must  come  from  the 
effort  of  the  reader  to  make  the  meaning  clear  to  his  hearers.  For 
example,  the  first  sentence  in  this  book  (page  1)  will  be  read  cor- 
rectly thus :    The  bishop  of  D was  a  man  of  such  saintly  life 

and  self-sacrificing  charity  that  he  became  known  as  Monseigneur 
Bienvemij  or  Welcome. 

Inflection  is  the  upward  or  downward  slide  of  the  voice.  It  is 
of  two   kinds,  rising   and   falling.    These    may  be  illustrated  by 


VI 

carrying  the  hand  through  the  air  as  the  words  are  spoken,  or 
by  writing  sentences  on  the  blackboard  in  a  form  that  will 
indicate  the   inflection,  as  follows :    Did  you  see  a  boy  pass  this 

tV&J         e#   ]ie  went  down  this    9/  If  insufficient  attention  is 

given  to  the  matter  of  inflection,  the  voice  becomes  monotonous  and 
oral  reading  exceedingly  tiresome.  An  exaggerated  inflection,  on 
the  other  hand,  tends  to  artificiality  and  affectation.  Great  pains 
should  be  taken  to  secure  natural  expression. 

Accent  means  the  special  stress  given  to  a  certain  syllable  of  a 
word,  as  pres'  ent,  pre  sent',  pres  en  ta'  tion. 

Quality  has  to  do  with  the  kind  of  tone  used  in  speaking  or 
reading.  The  three  principal  tones  used  are  pure,  orotund,  and 
aspirated.  Others  sometimes  mentioned  are  the  guttural,  a  deep 
throat  tone,  and  the  tremor,  a  tremulous  quality  of  the  voice.  Pure 
tone  is  used  in  ordinary  conversation  and  is  clear  and  smooth.  The 
orotund  is  a  magnified  or  intensified  pure  tone.  It  is  used  to  bring 
out  some  special  oratorical  effect,  or  in  reading  verse  of  great  dig- 
nity and  majesty.  The  aspirated  is  a  forcible  whisper  expressing 
fear,  horror,  or  wonder. 

Force  is  the  degree  of  loudness  used  in  reading ;  the  voice  is  loud, 
moderate,  or  gentle,  according  to  the  requirements  of  the  selection 
to  be  read. 

Pitch  means  the  general  tone  of  the  voice  in  reading ;  it  is 
medium,  high,  or  low  as  the  selection  may  demand.  (Distinguish 
between  pitch  and  tone.) 

Rate  refers  to  the  rapidity  of  speech  in  oral  reading,  and  is 
moderate,  rapid,  or  slow  as  the  selection  may  demand. 


CONTENTS 


The  Bishop  and  the  Convict  —  I.  Victor  Hugo 
The  Bishop  and  the  Convict  —  II 
Song  of  the  River.  Charles  Kingsley  . 
Tom  and  the  Lobster.  Charles  Kingsley 
The  Succory.  Margaret  Deland 
Maggie  Tulliver.  George  Eliot  . 
Before  the  Rain.  Thomas  Bailey  A  Id  rich 
Lost  in  the  Storm.  WiUiam  J.  Long  . 
The  Snowstorm.  John  Townsend  Trowbridge 
The  Dancing  Dogs.  Hector  Malot 
The  Typhoon.  Joseph  Conrad 
Life's  Torch.  Henry  Xewbolt 
Robinson  Crusoe's  Boat.  Daniel  Defoe 
The  Poet's  Vision.  John  Keats 
The  Loon.  Henry  D.  Thoreau 
A  Dream  of  the  South  Wind.  Paul  Hamilton  Hayne 
The  Snow  Image  —  I.  Nathaniel  Hawthorne 
The  Snow  Image  —  II  .... 
The  Robin.  Sidney  Lanier 
Governor  Manco  and  the  Soldier  —  I.  Washington 
Governor  Manco  and  the  Soldier  —  II  . 
Washington  Irving.  William  Makepeace  Thackeray 
Henry  Hudson's  Last  Voyage.  Henry  van  Dyke 
Plain  Living.  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson 
The  Way  to  Arcady.  Henry  C.  Banner 
Silas  Wegg  and  Mr.  Bofein.  Charles  Dickens 
The  Honeybee.  John  Burroughs  . 
The  Humblebee.  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson 
The  Lantern  Bearers.    Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

vii 


Irving 


PAGE 

1 

9 

14 

16 

20 

21 

28 

29 

37 

40 

50 

55 

56 

62 

63 

66 

68 

75 

85 

86 

94 

104 

108 

115 

117 

119 

127 

132 

134 


vm 


Daffodils.     William  Wordsworth      .         .         . 

A  Thing  of  Beauty.    John  Keats  .... 

A  Memory  of  my  Childhood.    Pierre  Loti  . 

The  Night  before  Thanksgiving  —  I.    Sarah  Ome  Jcwett 

The  Night  before  Thanksgiving  —  II 

At  Table  —  I.     Francois  Coppe'e      .... 

At  Table  —  II        .         .         .    '     . 

At  Table  — III 

The  Things  that  Count.     Clarence  Urmy    . 

The  Old  Wolf's  Challenge.     William  J.  Long  . 

Along  the  Docks.     George  William  Curtis 

My  Lost  Youth.    Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow 

The  Castaway.    Robert  Louis  Stevenson  . 

The  Stormy  Petrel.    Barry  Cornwall   . 

A  Highland  Adventure.    Dinah  Mulock  Craik    . 

The  Bell  Buoy.     Rudyard  Kipling 

At  Sea.    James  Russell  Lowell  .... 

June.    James  Russell  Lowell       ..... 

The  Homeward  Run.    Rudyard  Kipling 

The  Forsaken  Merman.    Matthew  Arnold     . 

Colonel  Newcome  and  his  Son.     William  Makepeace 

America  the  Beautiful.    Katharine  Lee  Bates 

The  Rescue  of  the  Sheep.    Richard  D.  Blackmore 

The  Hunting  of  the  Cheviot     .... 

Across  the  Desert.    Alexander  W.  Kinglake 

Snow-Bound.    John  Greenleaf  Whittier     . 

Poetry.     Oliver  Wendell  Holmes        .  .  . 

The  Poets.    Arthur  0' Shaughnessy  .         . 

The  Chambered  Nautilus.     Oliver  Wendell  Holmes 

A  Night  among  the  Pines.    Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

A  Forest  Hymn.     William  Cullen  Bryant 

A  Tragedy  in  the  Desert  —  I.    Honore  de  Balzac 

A  Tragedy  in  the  Desert  —  II  .... 

Psalm  VIII     . 

Psalm  XIX     .         .         .         .         . 

God's  Presence  in  Nature.     Thomas  Moore 


Thackeray 


Croly 


IX 


RUHNING  the  Gauntlet.    James  Fenimore  Cooper 

Excalibur.     Alfred  Tennyson  ..... 

The  Doors  oe  Opportunity.     Hamilton  Wright  Maine 

Opportunity.    Edward  Rowland  Sill 

The  Way  to  Wealth.     Benjamin  Franklin    . 

Catiline's  Speech  on  his  Banishment.     George 

Clouds.     Edward  Rowland  Sill 

The  Fencing   Match.     Edmond  Rostand 

The  Cat  by  the   Fire.    Leigh  Hunt 

The  Purloined  Letter  —  I.    Edgar  Allan  Poe 

The  Purloined  Letter  —  II 

To  Helen.     Edgar  Allan  Poe  .... 

Hatto  the  Hermit.     Selma  Lagerlbf 

The  Kearsarge.    James  Jeffrey  Roche     . 

Traveling   in  England  in  1685.     Thomas  Babington  Macaulay 

From  Westminster  Bridge.     William  Wordsworth 

London.     William  Wordsworth  ..... 

Selling  his  Ancestors.     Richard  Brinsley  Sheridan 

Venice.    John  Raskin        ...... 

Venice.    Lord  Byron 

Each  and  All.    Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  . 
The  Battle  of  Bannockburn.    John  Richard  Green 
The  March  to  Bannockburn.    Robert  Burns 
Scotia.     Robert  Burns        ...... 

Robert  Burns.     Thomas  Carlyle      .... 

The  Pilgrim  Fathers.    John  Boyle  O'Reilly  . 

Elizabeth's  Visit  to  Kenilworth.     Walter  Scott 

Ozymandias  of  Egypt.    Percy  Bysshe  Shelley 

The  Qdarrel.     William  Shakespeare 

In  the  Ice  Pack  —  I.    Norman  Duncan  . 

In  the  Ice  Pack  —  II    ...... 

A  Lost  Revenge.     Walter  Scott      .... 

Hector  and  Andromache.     Translated  from  Homer 
Cullen  Bryant      ....... 

The  Departure  of  Telemachus.     Retold  from  Homer 
To  a   Skylark.     William  Wordsworth 


by  William 


261 
267 
275 
278 
279 
284 
286 
288 
295 
300 
307 
315 
316 
321 
326 
330 
331 
332 
339 
342 
345 
346 
349 
350 
351 
353 
357 
365 
366 
373 
377 
382 

391 
396 
400 


PAGE 

The  Beginnings  of  Tennessee.     Theodore  Roosevelt      .         .         .  401 

The  Surprise  of  Kaskaskia.     Theodore  Roosevelt          .         .         .  406 

The  Sirens.     Translated  from  Homer  by  George  Herbert  Palmer      .'  410 

The  Flag.    Denis  A.  McCarthy 413 

A  Japanese  Village.  Isabella  L.  Bird  .....  414 
The  Burial  of  Sir  John  Moore.  Charles  Wolfe  .  .  .419 
Phoenicia.     William  Winwood  Reade          .          .         .          .          .          .421 

Samson.    John  Milton 426 

Comets.    Robert  Staivell  Ball     . 430 

Hymn  to  Mont  Blanc.     Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge  ....  442 

Ribaut's  First  Expedition.    Francis  Parkman     ....  447 

A  Night  Piece.     William  Wordsworth     .         .         .    •     .         .         .  452 

The  Growth  of  a  Nation.    John  Fiske 453 

Home  Thoughts  from  Abroad.     Robert  Browning        .         .         .  457 

John  Milton  and  the  Puritans.    John  Richard  Green         .          .  458 

The  House  Beautiful.    John  Bunyan  ......  403 

Elegy  written  in  a  Country  Churchyard.     Thomas  Gray       .  407 

The  Secret  of  Success.    Andrew  D.  White  .....  473 

To  Autumn.    John  Keats 476 

The  Price  of  War.    David  Starr  Jordan 478 

The  Parting  of  the  Ways.    Joseph  B.  Gilder      .         .  .  .481 


ALPHABETICAL  LIST  OF  AUTHORS 


PAGE 

Aldrich,  Thomas  Bulky  ...  28 

Arnold,  Matthew 199 

Ball,  Robert  Stawell      .    .    .  430 

Balzac,  Honors  de 244 

Bates,  Katharine  Lee  ....  207 

Bible 258 

Bird,  Isabella  L 414 

Blackmore,  Richard  D.    .    .    .  209 

Browning,  Robert 457 

Bryant,  William  Cullen      240,  391 

Burner,  Henry  C 117 

Bun  y  an.  John 463 

Burns,  Robert 349,  350 

Burroughs,  John    .    .    .    .    .    .  127 

Byron,  George  Gordon,  Lord  .  342 

Carlyle,  Thomas 351 

Coleridge.  Samuel  Taylor  .     .  442 

Conrad,  Joseph 50 

Cooper,  James  Fenimore  .     .    .  261 

Coppee,  Francois  ......  148 

Cornwall,  Barry 180 

Craik.  Dinah  Mulock   ....  182 

Croly,  George 284 

Curtis,  George  William  .     .     .  161 

Defoe,  Daniel 56 

Deland.  Margaret 20 

Dickens.  Charles 119 

Duncan,  Norman 373 

Eliot,  George 21 

Emerson,  Ralph  W.  .     115.  132,  345 

Fiskk.  John 453 

Franklin.  Benjamin 279 

Gilder.  Joseph  B 481 


PAGE 

Gray,  Thomas      T 467 

Green,  John  Richard  .  .  346,  458 
Hawthorne,  Nathaniel  .  .  68 
Hayne,  Paul  Hamilton  ...  66 
Holmes,  Oliver  Wendell     230,  234 

Homer 391,  396,  410 

Hugo,  Victor 1 

Hunt,  Leigh 295 

Irving.  Washington 86 

Jewett,  Sarah  Orne 142 

Jordan,  David  Starr     ....    478 

Keats,  John 62,  138,  476 

Kinglake.  Alexander  W.  .  .  221 
Kim.slev,  Charles  .  .  .  .  14,  16 
Kipling,  Rudyard  ....     186,  194 

Lagerlof,  Selma 316 

Lanier,  Sidney 85 

Long,  William  J.   .    .    .    .    .29,  155 

Longfellow,  Henry  W.    .    .    .    166 

Loti,  Pierre 139 

Lowell.  James  Russell  .  190,  193 
Marie,  Hamilton  Wright     .    .    275 

McCarthy,  Denis  A 413 

Macaulay,  Thomas  Babington     326 

Ma  lot,  Hector 40 

Milton,  John 426 

Moore,  Thomas 260 

Newbolt,  Henry' 55 

O'Reilly,  John  Boyle  ....  353 
(►"Shaughnessy,  Arthur  .  .  .  233 
Palmer,  George  Herbert     .     .    410 

Parkman.  Francis 447 

Poe,  Edgar  Allan  .    .    .    .    300,315 


Xll 


Reade,  William  Winwooi 
Roche,  James  Jeffrey 
Roosevelt,  Theodore 
Rostand,  Edmond   .    . 
Ruskin,  John  .... 
Scott,  Walter    .    .    . 
Shakespeare,  William 
Shelley,  Percy  Bysshe 
Sheridan,  Richard  Brinsle 
Sill,  Edward  Rowland 
Stevenson,  Robert  Louis 

134, 


PAGE  PAOK 

.     .    421       Tennyson,  Alfred 2<i7 

.    .    324  Thackeray,  William  Makepeace 

401,  40(3  104,  203 

.    .    288       Thoreau,  Henry  D 63 

.    .    339  Trowbridge,  John  Townsend   .      37 

357,  382       Urmy,  Clarence 154 

.    .    366       Van  Dyke,  Henry 108 

.    .    365       White,  Andrew  D 473 

y   .    332  Whittier,  John  Greenleaf  .     .    227 

278,  286       Wolfe,  Charles 419 

Wordsworth,  William 

170,  236  137,  330,  331,  400,  452 


THE 

BLODGETT  FIFTH  READER 

THE  BISHOP  AND  THE  CONVICT  — I 

Victor  Hugo 

Victor  Hugo  (1802-1885)  was  the  foremost  French  author  of  the 
nineteenth  century.  Les  Miserables  (la  me  ze"  ra'bl)  (The  Outcasts),  from 
which  the  following  pages  are  taken,  was  his  masterpiece.  Its  purpose 
was  to  awaken  society  to  the  startling  flaws  in  its  own  structure. 

Note.  The  central  figure  of  the  book  is  Jean  Valjean  (zhax  val  zhax'),  5 
a  dull,  good-natured  French  peasant.  After  the  death  of  his  parents  he 
lived  with  his  widowed  sister  and  aided  in  the  support  of  her  seven  little 
children.  In  1795  there  came  a  very  severe  winter;  and,  unable  to  find 
work,  Jean  stole  a  loaf  of  bread  to  save  the  family  from  starving.  For  this 
he  was  sentenced  to  five  years  of  hard  labor  in  the  galleys.  Four  attempts  10 
to  escape  added  fourteen  years  to  his  term  of  imprisonment,  and  when,  at 
last,  he  was  released,  he  was  a  man  who  had  lost  all  hope.  His  meeting 
with  the  good  bishop  reveals  to  him  a  new  world. 

The  bishop  of  D was  a  man  of  such  saintly  life  and 

self-sacrificing  charity  that  he  became  known  as  Monseig-  15 
neur  Bienvenu,  or  Welcome.  He  gave  up  his  palace  that 
it  might  serve  as  a  hospital,  taking  for  himself  and  his 
sister,  Mademoiselle  Baptistine,  with  their  one  servant, 
Madame  Magloire,  the  small  and  poorly  furnished  quar- 
ters formerly  occupied  by  the  hospital.    Here  he  devoted  20 


himself  to  good  works,  ministering  to  the  poor,  to  the  suf- 
fering, and  even  to  condemned  prisoners.  The  door  of 
his  house  was  never  locked,  and  whoever  needed  a  friend 
found  one  here. 
5  One  evening  in  October  the  bishop,  after  his  walk 
through  the  town,  remained  shut  up  rather  late  in  his 
room.  At  eight  o'clock  he  was  still  at  work,  writing,  when 
Madame  Magloire  entered,  as  usual,  to  get  the  silverware 
from  the  cupboard  near  his  bed.    A  moment  later  the 

10  bishop,  knowing  that  the  table  was  set  and  that  his  sister 
was  probably  waiting  for  him,  shut  his  book,  rose  from  his 
table,  and  entered  the  dining  room. 

Madame  Magloire  was  just  putting  the  last  touches  to 
the  table,  and  as  she  did  so  she  was  talking  with  Made- 

15  moiselle  Bap tis tine  upon  a  subject  which  was  familiar  to 
her  and  to  which  the  bishop  was  also  accustomed.  The 
question  concerned  the  lock  upon  the  front  door. 

It  seems  that  while  buying  some  provisions  for  supper 
Madame   Magloire   had   heard    things   in   divers   places. 

20  People  had  spoken  of  a  prowler  of  evil  appearance ;  a  sus- 
picious vagabond  had  arrived,  who  must  be  somewhere 
about  the  town,  and  those  who  should  take  it  into  their 
heads  to  return  home  late  that,  night  might  be  subjected 
to  unpleasant  encounters.    As  the  police  force  was  very 

25  badly  organized,  it  behooved  wise  people  to  play  the  part 
of  police  themselves,  —  to  duly  close,  bar,  and  barricade 
their  houses  and  to  fasten  the  doors  well. 


Madame  Magloire  emphasized  these  last  words  ;  but  the 
bishop,  who  had  just  come  from  his  room  where  it  was 
rather  cold,  seated  himself  in  front  of  the  fire  and  fell  to 
thinking  of  other  things.  He  did  not  take  up  the  remark 
dropped  with  design  by  Madame  Magloire,  and  she  re-  5 
peated  it.  Then  Mademoiselle  Baptistine,  desirous  of  sat- 
isfying Madame  Magloire  without  displeasing  her  brother, 
ventured  to  say  timidly,  "  Did  you  hear  what  Madame 
Magloire  is  saying,  brother  ? " 

"  I  have  heard  something  of  it  in  a  vague  way,"  replied  10 
the  bishop.  Then,  half  turning  in  his  chair,  placing  his 
hands  on  his  knees,  and  raising  toward  the  old  servant 
woman  his  cordial,  good-humored  face,  he  said :  "  Come, 
what  is  the  matter  ?  What  is  the  matter  ?  Are  we  in  any 
great  danger  ?  "  15 

Whereupon  Madame  Magloire  began  the  whole  story 
afresh.  It  appeared  that  a  barefooted  vagabond,  a  sort  of 
dangerous  beggar  or  gypsy,  was  at  that  moment  in  the 
town.  He  had  presented  himself  at  the  inn  to  obtain  lodg- 
ing, but  the  landlord  had  not  been  willing  to  receive  him.  20 
He  had  been  seen  to  roam  about  the  streets  in  the  gloam- 
ing, —  a  gallows  bird  with  a  terrible  face. 

"  Really  ?  "  said  the  bishop. 

This  willingness  to  ask  questions  encouraged  Madame 
Magloire.    It  seemed  to  her  to  indicate  that  the  bishop  25 
was  on  the  point  of  becoming  alarmed.    "  Yes,  Monseig- 
neur,"  she  pursued  triumphantly.    "There  will  be  some 


sort  of  catastrophe  in  this  town  to-night.  Every  one  says 
so.  And  besides,  the  police  is  so  badly  regulated.  The 
idea  of  living  in  a  mountainous  country,  and  not  even 
having  lights  in  the  streets  at  night !  And  I  say,  Monseig- 
5  neur,  that  this  house  is  not  safe  at  all ;  that  if  Monseigneur 
will  permit,  I  will  go  and  tell  the  locksmith  to  come  and 
replace  the  ancient  locks  on  the  doors,  for  there  is  nothing 
more  terrible  than  a  door  with  a  latch  on  the  outside,  which 
can  be  opened  by  the  first  passer-by.    We  need  bolts,  Mon- 

10  seigneur,  if  only  for  this  night;  moreover  —  " 

At  that  moment  there  came  a  tolerably  violent  knock 
on  the  door. 

"  Come  in,"  said  the  bishop.  The  door  opened  wide  with 
a  rapid  movement,  as  if  some  one  had  given  it  an  energetic 

15  and  resolute  push. 

A  man  entered,  advanced  a  step,  and  halted,  leaving  the 
door  open  behind  him.  He  was  a  man  in  the  prime  of 
life,  of  medium  stature,  thickset  and  robust,  with  a  shaved 
head  and  a  long  beard.    A  cap  with  a  drooping  leather 

20  visor  partly  concealed  his  face,  which  was  burned  and 
tanned  by  sun  and  wind.  He  wore  a  shirt  of  coarse  yellow 
linen,  a  cravat  twisted  into  a  string,  trousers  of  blue  drill- 
ing, and  an  old  gray  tattered  blouse,  patched  on  one  of 
the  elbows  with  a  bit  of  green  cloth  sewed  on  with  twine. 

25  He  carried  on  his  back  a  tightly  packed  knapsack,  well 
buckled  and  perfectly  new,  and  an  enormous  knotty  stick 
in  his  hand. 


Madame  Magloire  had  not  even  the  strength  to  utter  a 
cry.    She  trembled,  and  stood  with  her  mouth  wide  open. 

Mademoiselle  Baptistine  turned  round,  saw  the  man 
enter,  and  half  started  up  in  terror;  then  turning  her 
head  by  degrees  toward  the  fireplace,  she  began  to  observe    5 
her  brother,  and  her  face  became  once  more  calm  and 
serene. 

The  bishop  fixed  his  tranquil  eye  on  the  man. 

As  he  opened  his  mouth,  doubtless  to  ask  the  new- 
comer what  he  wanted,  the  man  rested  both  hands  on  his  10 
staff,  directed  his  gaze  in  turn  at  the  old  man  and  the  two 
women,  and  without  waiting  for  the  bishop  to  speak,  said 
in  a  loud  voice :  "  See  here !    My  name  is  Jean  Valjean. 
I  am  a  convict  from  the  galleys.    I  have  passed  nineteen 
years  there.    I  was  liberated  four  days  ago,  and  am  on  my  15 
way  to  Pontarlier,  which  is  my  destination.    I  have  been 
walking  for  four  days  since  I  left  Toulon.    I  have  traveled 
a  dozen  leagues  to-day  on  foot.    This  evening,  when  I 
arrived  in  these  parts,  I  went  to  an  inn,  and  they  turned 
me  out  because  of  my  yellow  passport,  which  I  had  shown  20 
at  the  townhall  as  was  necessary.    I  went  to  another  inn. 
They  said  to  me,  '  Be  off,'  at  both  places.    No  one  would 
take  me.    I  went  to  the  prison  ;  the  jailer  would  not  admit 
me.    I  went  into  a  dog's  kennel;  the  dog  bit  me  and 
chased  me  off,  as  if  he  had  been  a  man.     One  would  25 
have  said  that  he  knew  who  I  was.    I  went  into  the  fields, 
intending  to  sleep  in  the   open   air   beneath  the  stars. 


There  were  no  stars.  I  thought  that  it  was  going  to  rain, 
and  I  came  back  to  the  town  to  seek  the  shelter  of  some 
doorway.  Yonder,  in  the  square,  I  lay  down  to  sleep  on  a 
stone  bench.  A  good  woman  pointed  out  your  house  to 
5  me  and  said  to  me,  i  Knock  there ! '  I  have  knocked. 
What  is  this  place  ?  Do  you  keep  an  inn  ?  I  have  money, 
my  savings  —  one  hundred  and  nine  francs  and  fifteen 
sous,  which  I  earned  in  the  galleys  by  my  labor,  in  the 
course  of  nineteen  years.    I  will  pay  anything  you  ask.    I 

10  am  weary  and  very  hungry.  Are  you  willing  that  I  should 
stay?" 

"Madame  Magloire,"  said   the  bishop,  "you  will  set 
another  place." 

The   man  advanced   three    paces    and  approached  the 

15  lamp  which  was  on  the  table.  "  Stop,"  he  resumed,  as  if 
he  had  not  quite  understood.  "  Did  you  hear  ?  I  am  a 
galley  slave,  a  convict.  I  come  from  the  galleys."  He 
drew  from  his  pocket  a  large  sheet  of  yellow  paper,  which 
he  unfolded.    "  Here  's  my  passport,  —  yellow,  as  you  see. 

20  This  serves  to  expel  me  from  every  place  where  I  go. 
Will  you  read  it  ?  I  know  how  to  read.  I  learned  in  the 
galleys.  There  is  a  school  there  for  those  who  wish  to 
learn.  This  is  what  they  have  put  on  this  passport: 
6  Jean  Valjean,  discharged  convict,  native  of '  —  that  is 

25  nothing  to  you  — i  has  been  nineteen  years  in  the  galleys  ; 
five  years  for  housebreaking  and  burglary ;  fourteen  years 
for  having  attempted  to  escape  on  four  occasions.    He  is 


a  very  dangerous  man.'  There !  Every  one  has  cast  me 
out.  Are  you  willing  to  receive  me  ?  Is  this  an  inn  ? 
Will  you  give  me  something  to  eat  and  a  bed?  Have 
you  a  stable  ?  " 

••  Madame  Maglbire,"  said  the  bishop,  "  you  will  put   5 
white  sheets  on  the  bed  in  the  alcove." 

Madame  Magloire  went  out  to  execute  these  orders. 

The  bishop  turned  to  the  man.  "  Sit  down,  sir,  and 
warm  yourself.  We  are  going  to  sup  in  a  few  moments, 
and  your  bed  will  be  prepared  while  you  are  eating."  10 

At  this  point  the  man  suddenly  comprehended.  The 
expression  of  his  face,  up  to  that  time  gloomy  and  harsh, 
bore  the  imprint  of  stupefaction,  of  doubt,  of  joy,  and  be- 
came extraordinary.  He  began  stammering  like  a  crazy 
man :  "  Really  ?  You  will  keep  me  ?  You  do  not  drive  15 
me  forth  ?  A  convict !  and  you  call  me  Sir  !  '  Get  out  of 
here,  you  dog ! '  is  what  people  have  said  to  me.  I  felt 
sure  that  you  would  expel  me,  so  I  told  you  at  once  who 
I  am.  •  Oh,  what  a  good  woman  that  wras  who  directed  me 
hither  !  I  am  going  to  have  supper  !  and  a  bed  with  a  mat-  20 
tress  and  sheets,  like  the  rest  of  the  world !  —  a  bed !  It 
is  nineteen  years  since  I  have  slept  in  a  bed  !  You  actually 
do  not  want  me  to  go !  You  are  good  people.  Besides,  I 
have  money ;  I  will  pay  well.  Pardon  me,  Monsieur  the 
innkeeper,  but  what  is  your  name  ?  You  are  an  innkeeper,  25 
are  you  not  ?  " 

"  I  am  a  priest  who  lives  here,"  said  the  bishop. 


8 

"  A  priest !  "  said  the  man.    "  Oh,  what  a  fine  priest ! 

Then  you  are  not  going  to  demand  any  money  of  me  ? 

You  are  the  cure,  are  you  not  ?  the  cure  of  this  big  church  ? 

Well !    I  am  a  fool,  truly !     I  had  not  perceived  your 

5  skullcap." 

As  he  spoke  he  deposited  his  knapsack  and  his  cudgel 
in  a  corner,  replaced  his  passport  in  his  pocket,  and  seated 
himself.  "  You  are  humane,"  he  went  on.  "  You  have 
not  scorned  me.  Then  you  do  not  require  me  to  pay  ?  " 
10  "  No,"  replied  the  bishop  ;  "  keep  your  money.  How 
much  have  you  ?  Did  you  not  tell  me  one  hundred  and 
nine  francs  ?  " 

"  And  fifteen  sous,"  added  the  man. 

"  One  hundred  and  nine  francs  and  fifteen  sous !    And 
15  how  long  did  it  take  you  to  earn  that  ?  " 

"  Nineteen  years." 

u  Nineteen  years  !  "    The  bishop  sighed  deeply. 

The  man  continued :  "  I  have  still  the  whole  of  my 
money.  In  four  days  I  have  spent  only  twenty-five  sous, 
20  which  I  earned  by  helping  unload  some  wagons.  Since 
you  are  a  priest,  I  will  tell  you  that  we  had  a  chaplain  in 
the  galleys.  And  one  day  I  saw  a  bishop  there.  Monseig- 
neur  is  what  they  called  him.  He  is  the  cure  who  rules 
over  the  other  cures,  you  understand.  Pardon  me,  I  say 
25  that  very  badly ;  but  it  is  such  a  far-off  thing  to  me  !  " 

While  he  was  speaking  the  bishop  had  gone  out  and 
shut  the  door,  which  had  remained  wide  open. 


THE  BISHOP  AND  THE  CONVICT  — II 

Madame  Magloire  returned  with  a  silver  fork  and  spoon, 
which  she  placed  on  the  table. 

u  Madame   Magloire/'    said   the    bishop,  "  place   those 
things  as  near  the  fire  as  possible."    And  turning  to  his 
guest :  "  The  night  wind  is  harsh  on  the  Alps.    You  must    5 
be  cold,  sir." 

Each  time  that  he  uttered  the  word  sir,  in  a  voice  which 
was  so  gently  grave  and  polished,  the  man's  face  lighted 
up.  Sir  to  a  convict  is  like  a  glass  of  water  to  a  man  dy- 
ing of  thirst  at  sea.    Ignominy  thirsts  for  consideration.      10 

"  This  lamp  gives  a  very  bad  light,"  said  the  bishop. 

Madame  Magloire  understood  him,  and  went  to  get  the 
two  silver  candlesticks  from  the  chimney  piece  in  Mon- 
seigneur's  bedchamber,  and  placed  them,  lighted,  on  the 
table.  15 

"  You  are  good,"  said  the  man ;  "  you  do  not  despise  me. 
You  receive  me  into  your  house.  You  light  your  candles 
for  me.  Yet  I  have  not  concealed  from  you  whence  I 
come  and  that  I  am  an  unfortunate  man." 

The  bishop,  who  was  sitting  near  him,  gently  touched  20 
his  hand.  "  You  need  not  tell  me  who  you  are.  This  door 
does  not  demand  of  him  who  enters  whether  he  has  a 
name,  but  whether  he  has  a  grief.  You  suffer,  you  are 
hungry  and  thirsty ;  you  are  welcome.  Every  one  is  at 
home  here  who  needs  a  refuge.    What  need  have  I  to  25 


10 

know  your  name  ?    Besides,  before  you  told  me,  you  had 
one  which  I  knew." 

The  man  opened  his  eyes  in  astonishment.  "Really? 
You  knew  what  I  was  called  ? " 
5      "  Yes,"  replied  the  bishop ;  "  you  are  called  my  brother." 

"  Stop,  stop !  "  exclaimed  the  man.  "  I  was  very  hun- 
gry when  I  entered  here ;  but  you  are  so  good  that  I  no 
longer  know  what  has  happened  to  me." 

The  bishop  looked  at  him  and  said,  "You  have  suffered 
10  much  ?  " 

"  Oh,  the  red  blouse,  the  ball  on  the  ankle,  a  plank  to 
sleep  on,  heat,  cold,  toil,  the  convicts,  the  thrashings,  the 
double  chain  for  nothing,  the  cell  for  one  word;  even 
when  sick  and  in  bed,  still  the  chain !  Dogs,  dogs  are 
15  happier !  Nineteen  years !  I  am  forty-six.  Now,  there  is 
the  yellow  passport.    That  is  all  I  have." 

"Yes,"  resumed  the  bishop,  "you  have  come  from  a 
very  sad  place.  Listen.  There  will  be  more  joy  in  heaven 
over  the  tear-bathed  face  of  a  repentant  sinner  than  over 
20  the  white  robes  of  a  hundred  just  men.-  If  you  are  leaving 
that  sad  place  with  thoughts  of  hatred  and  of  wrath 
against  mankind,  you  are  deserving  of  pity ;  if  you  are 
leaving  it  with  thoughts  of  good  will  and  of  peace,  you 
are  more  worthy  than  any  one  of  us." 
25  In  the  meantime  Madame  Magloire  had  served  supper, 
—  soup,  a  little  bacon,  a  bit  of  mutton,  figs,  a  fresh  cheese, 
and  a  large  loaf  of  rye  bread. 


11 

The  bishop's  face  at  once  assumed  that  expression  of 
gayety  which  is  peculiar  to  hospitable  natures.  "To 
table !  "  he  cried  vivaciously.  As  was  his  habit  when  a 
stranger  supped  with  him,  he  made  the  man  sit  -on  his 
right.    Mademoiselle  Baptistine  took  her  seat  at  his  left.    5 

The  bishop  asked  a  blessing  and  then  helped  the  soup 
himself  according  to  his  custom. 

Jean  Valjean  paid  no  attention  to  any  one.   He  ate  with 
the  voracity  of  a  starving  man.    However,  after  supper  he 
said,  "  Sir,  all  this  is  far  too  good  for  me,  but  I  must  say  10 
that  the  carters  at  the  inn,  who  would  not  allow  me  to 
eat  with  them,  keep  a  better  table  than  you  do." 

The  bishop  replied,  "  They  are  more  fatigued  than  I." 

"  No,"   returned  the    man ;   "  they  have  more  money. 
You  are  poor ;  I  see  that  plainly.    You  cannot  be  even  a  15 
curate.   Are  you  really  a  cure  ?   Ah,  if  the  good  God  were 
but  just,  you  certainly  ought  to  be  a  cure  !  " 

"  The  good  God  is  more  than  just,"  said  the  bishop.  A 
moment  later  he  added,  "  Jean  Valjean,  is  it  to  Pontarlier 
that  you  are  going  ?  "  20 

"  Yes,  with  my  road  marked  out  for  me.  I  must  be  on 
my  way  by  daybreak  to-morrow.  Traveling  is  hard.  If 
the  nights  are  cold,  the  days  are  hot." 

"  You  are  going  to  a  good  country,"  said  the  bishop. 
"  There  is  plenty  of  work  there.    You  have  only  to  choose.  25 
There  are  paper  mills,  tanneries,  distilleries,  oil  factories, 
watch  factories  on  a  large  scale,  steel  mills,  and  copper 


12 

works.    Besides  these  industries  they  have  another.    It  is 
their  cheese  dairies,  which  they  call  fruitier es." 

The  bishop  recurred  frequently  to  the  latter  trade  as  if 
he  wished  the  man  to  understand,  without  advising  him 
5  directly,  that  this  would  afford  him  a  refuge.  Neither 
during  supper,  nor  during  the  entire  evening,  did  the 
bishop  utter  a  single  word  that  could  remind  Valjean  of 
what  he  was.  He  did  not  even  ask  him  from  what  coun- 
try he  came,  nor  what  was  his  history.    He  was  thinking, 

10  no  doubt,  that  the  man  had  his  misfortune  only  too  vividly 
present  in  his  mind  ;  that  the  best  thing  was  to  divert 
him  from  it,  and  to  make  him  believe,  if  only  for  the 
moment,  that  he  was  a  person  like  any  other. 

But  Jean   Valjean  paid  little  heed  to   anything.    He 

15  seemed  too  fatigued  to  talk. 

At  last  Monseigneur  Bienvenu  took  one  of  the  two  silver 
candlesticks  from  the  table,  handed  the  other  to  his  guest, 
and  said  to  him,  "Monsieur,  I  will  conduct  you  to  your 
room." 

20      The  man  followed  him. 

The  bishop  left  his  guest  in  an  alcove  adjoining  his  own 
bedroom.  "May  you  pass  a  good  night,"  he  said.  "To- 
morrow morning,  before  you  set  out,  you  shall  have  a  cup 
of  warm  milk  from  our  cows." 

25  "Thanks,  monsieur,"  said  Valjean.  He  turned  abruptly 
to  the  old  man,  folded  his  arms,  and  exclaimed  in  a  hoarse 
voice :  "  Ah !  really !    You  lodge  me  in  your  house,  close 


13 

to  yourself,  like  this  ?   Have  you  reflected  well  ?    How  do 
you  know  that  I  am  not  a  murderer  ?  " 

The  bishop  replied,  "  That  is  the  concern  of  the  good 
God."    Then  gravely,  and  moving  his  lips  like  one  who  is 
praying  or  talking  to  himself,  he  raised  two  fingers  of  his    5 
right  hand  and  bestowed  his  benediction  on  the  man ;  then, 
without  turning  his  head,  he  went  into  his  bedroom. 

A  moment  later  he  was  in  his  garden,  walking,  medi- 
tating, contemplating,  his  heart  and  soul  wholly  absorbed 
in  those  grand  and  mysterious  things  which  God  shows  at  10 
night  to  the  eyes  which  remain  open. 

As  for  the  man,  he  was  so  completely  exhausted  that 
he  did  not  even  profit  by  the  nice  white  sheets.  Snuffing 
out  his  candle  he  dropped,  all  dressed  as  he  was,  upon  the 
bed,  where  he  immediately  fell  into  a  sound  sleep.  16 

Midnight  struck  as  the  bishop  returned  from  his  garden 
to  his  room,  and  a  few  minutes  later  all  were  asleep  in  the 
little  house. 

galleys :  prisons  or  penal  colonies.  Originally  a  galley  slave  was  one 
who  worked  at  the  oars  in  a  galley,  or  vessel  propelled  by  rowing.  The 
French  kept  the  term  and  applied  it  to  convicts  chained  together  as  the 
old  galley  slaves  had  been. —  Monseigneur  Bienvenu  (mox  san  yeV  byax- 
ve  nu').  —  Magloire  (ma  glwar7).  —  Baptistine  (ba tls  ten').  —  gallows  (gal'- 
ltis)  bird  :  a  criminal.  — visor  (viz'er)  :  the  forepiece  of  a  cap.  — Pontarlier 
(pox  tar'  le"  a') :  a  French  town  at  the  entrance  of  a  mountain  pass.  — 
Toulon  (too  lux')  :  a  French  seaport. — league  :  about  two  and  a  half  miles, 
in  France.  —  franc  :  a  coin  worth  about  twenty  cents.  —  sous  (soos)  : 
cents. — Monsieur  (mo  sye'):  Mr.  or  sir.  — cure"  (ku  ra'):  minister  or  rector. 
—  fruitieres  (frii'  tyar')  :  dairies. 


14 
SONG  OF  THE  RIVER 

Charles  Kingsley 

Charles  Kingsley  (1819-1875)  was  an  English  clergyman  and  author. 
As  a  novelist  his  chief  power  lay  in  his  vivid  imagination  and  in  his  de- 
scriptive faculties,  Hypatia  and  Westward  Ho  !  containing  some  of  the  finest 
bits  of  word  painting  in  our  language.    Many  of  his  lyrics  and  ballads  are 
5  inserted  in  his  stories.    This  song  is  from  The  Water  Babies. 


10 


Clear  and  cool,  clear  and  cool, 

By  laughing  shallow,  and  dreaming  pool ; 

Cool  and  clear,  cool  and  clear, 

By  shining  shingle,  and  foaming  weir ; 

Under  the  crag  where  the  ouzel  sings, 

And  the  ivied  wall  where  the  church  bell  rings, 

Undefiled,  for  the  undefiled ; 

Play  by  me,  bathe  in  me,  mother  and  child. 


15 

Dank  and  foul,  dank  and  foul, 

By  the  smoky  town  in  its  murky  cowl ; 

Foul  and  dank,  foul  and  dank, 

By  wharf  and  sewer  and  slimy  bank : 

Darker  and  darker  the  further  I  go, 

Baser  and  baser  the  richer  I  grow ; 

Who  dare  sport  with  the  sin-defiled  ? 

Shrink. from  me,  turn  from  me,  mother  and  child. 

Strong  and  free,  strong  and  free, 

The  floodgates  are  open,  away  to  the  sea-; 

Free  and  strong,  free  and  strong, 

Cleansing  my  streams  as  I  hurry  along 

To  the  golden  sands,  and  the  leaping  bar, 

And  the  taintless  tide  that  awaits  me  afar, 

As  I  lose  myself  in  the  infinite  main, 

Like  a  soul  that  has  sinned  and  is  pardoned  again. 

Undefiled,  for  the  undefiled ; 

Play  by  me,  bathe  in  me,  mother  and  child. 

shingle:  pebbles  that  are  waterworn. — weir  (wer)  :  a  dam. — ouzel 
(oo'z'l)  :  a  bird  of  the  thrush  family. — undefiled:  not  defiled;  clean. — 
dank  :  damp.  — murky  :  gloomy.  — cowl :  a  kind  of  hood. — taintless  :  pure. 
—  infinite :  endless.  —  main  :  the  ocean. 


10 


10 


16 

TOM  AND  THE  LOBSTER 

Charles  Kingsley 

Note.  Tom  is  a  little  chimney  sweep  who  has  been  changed  by  the 
fairies  into  a  water  baby.  His  adventures,  as  told  in  The  Water  Babies,  are 
enjoyed  by  readers  of  all  ages. 

Tom  was  going  along  the  rocks  in  three-fathom  water, 
5  watching  the  pollock  catch  prawns,  and  the  wrasses  nibble 

barnacles  off  the  rocks,  shells  and  all,  when  he   saw  a 

round  cage  of  green  withes ;  and  inside  it,  looking  very 

much  ashamed    of   himself,   sat    his    friend    the    lobster, 

twiddling  his  horns,  instead  of  thumbs. 
10      "  What !   have  you  been  naughty,  and  have  they  put 

you  in  the  lockup  ?  "  asked  Tom. 

The  lobster  felt  a  little  indignant  at  such  a  notion,  but 

he  was  too  much  depressed  in  spirits  to  argue ;  so  he  only 

said,  "  I  can't  get  out." 
15      "  Why  did  you  get  in  ?  " 

"  After  that  nasty  piece  of  dead  fish."    He  had  thought  it 

looked  and  smelled  very  nice  when  he  was  outside,  and  so 

it  did,  to  a  lobster ;  but  now  he  turned  round  and  abused 

it  because  he  was  angry  with  himself. 
20      "  Where  did  you  get  in  ?  " 

"  Through  that  round  hole  at  the  top." 

"  Then  why  don't  you  get  out  through  it  ?  " 

u  Because  I  can't ;  "  and  the  lobster  twiddled  his  horns 

more  fiercely  than  ever,  but  he  was  forced  to  confess. 


17 

"I  have  jumped  upwards,  downwards,  backwards,  and 
sideways,  at  least  four  thousand  times,  and  I  can't  get 
out ;  I  always  get  up  underneath  there,  and  can't  find 
the  hole." 

Tom  looked  at  the  trap,  and  having  more  wit  than  the    5 
lobster,  he  saw  plainly  enough  what  was  the  matter,  as 
you  may  if  you  look  at  a  lobster  pot. 

"Stop  a  bit,"  said  Tom.  u  Turn  your  tail  up  to  me  and 
I'll  pull  you  through  hindforemost,  and  then  you  won't 
stick  in  the  spikes."  10 

But  the  lobster  was  so  stupid  and  clumsy  that  he 
could  n't  hit  the  hole.  Like  a  great  many  fox  hunters,  he 
was  very  sharp  as  long  as  he  was  in  his  own  country; 
but  as  soon  as  they  get  out  of  it  they  lose  their  heads ; 
and  the  lobster,  so  to  speak,  lost  his  tail.  15 

Tom  reached  and  clawed  down  the  hole  after  him  till 
he  caught  hold  of  him ;  and  then,  as  was  to  be  expected, 
the  clumsy  lobster  pulled  him  in  headforemost. 

"  Hullo  !  here  is  a  pretty  business,"  said  Tom.    "  Now 
take  your  great   claws   and   break   the  points  off  those  20 
spikes,  and  then  we  shall  both  get  out  easily." 

"Dear  me,  I  never  thought  of  that,"  said  the  lobster; 
"  and  after  all  the  experience  of  life  that  I  have  had ! " 

You  see  experience  is  of  very  little  good  unless  a  man, 
or  a  lobster,  has  wit  enough  to  make  use  of  it.    For  a  good  25 
many  people,  like  old  Polonius,  have  seen  all  the  world, 
and  yet  remain  little  better  than  children  after  all. 


18 

But  they  had  not  got  half  the  spikes  away  when  they 
saw  a  great  dark  cloud  over  them,  and,  lo  and  behold !  it 
was  the  otter. 

How  she  did  grin  and  grin  when  she  saw  Tom.   "  Yar !  " 
5  said  she;  "you  little,  meddlesome  wretch,  I  have  you  now! 
I  will  serve  you  out  for  telling  the  salmon  where  I  was !  " 
And  she  crawled  all  over  the  pot  to  get  in. 

Tom  was  horribly  frightened,  and  still  more  frightened 

-when  she  found  the  hole  in  the  top  and  squeezed  herself 

10  right  down  through  it,  all  eyes  and  teeth.    But  no  sooner 

was  her  head  inside  than  valiant  Mr.  Lobster  caught  her 

by  the  nose  and  held  on. 

And  there  they  were,  all  three  in  the  pot,  rolling  over 
and  over,  and  very  tight  packing  it  was.  And  the  lobster 
15  tore  at  the  otter,  and  the  otter  tore  at  the  lobster,  and 
both  squeezed  and  thumped  poor  Tom  till  he  had  no  breath 
left  in  his  body ;  and  I  don't  know  what  would  have  hap- 
pened to  him  if  he  had  not  at  last  got  on  the  otter's  back, 
and  safe  out  of  the  hole. 
20  He  was  right  glad  when  he  got  out,  but  he  would  not 
desert  his  friend  who  had  saved  him;  and  the  first  time 
he  saw  his  tail  uppermost  he  caught  hold  of  it  and  pulled 
with  all  his  might. 

But  the  lobster  would  not  let  go. 
25      "  Come  along,"  said  Tom  ;  "  don't  you  see  she  is  dead  ?  " 
And  so  she  was,  quite  drowned  and  dead. 

And  that  was  the  end  of  the  wicked  otter. 


19 


But  the  lobster  would  not  let  go. 

"  Come  along,  you  stupid  old  stick-in-the-mud,"  cried 
Tom,  "  or  the  fisherman  will  catch  you  !  "  And  that  was 
true,  for  Tom  felt  some  one  above  beginning  to  haul  up 
the  pot.  5 

But  the  lobster  would  not  let  go. 

Tom  saw  the  fisherman  haul  him  up  to  the  boatside, 
and  thought  it  was  all  up  with  him.  But  when  Mr.  Lob- 
ster saw  the  fisherman  he  gave  such  a  furious  and  tre- 
mendous snap  that  he  snapped  out  of  his  hand,  and  out  10 
of  the  pot,  and  safe  into  the  sea.  But  he  left  his  knobbed 
claw  behind  him ;  for  it  never  came  into  his  stupid  head 
to  let  go  after  all ;  so  he  just  shook  his  claw  off  as  the 
easier  method. 

Tom  asked  the  lobster  why  he  never  thought  of  letting  15 
go.    He  said  very  determinedly  that  it  was  a  point  of 

And  so  it  is. 

From  The  Water  Babies 


honor  among  lobsters 


three-fathom  :  eighteen  feet prawns :  shellfish,  like  shrimps.  — wrasses : 

salt-water  fishes,  often  bright  colored.  —  withes  (wlths)  :  flexible  twigs.  — 
Polo'nius  :  a  character  in  Shakespeare's  Hamlet. 


20 


10 


15 


THE  SUCCORY 

Margaret   Deland 
Mrs.  Margaret  Deland  is  an  American  novelist  and  lecturer. 
Note.    The  succory,  or  chicory,  is  a  common  roadside  plant. 

Oh  not  in  ladies'  gardens, 

My  peasant  posy, 

Smile  thy  dear  blue  eyes ; 

Nor  only  —  nearer  to  the  skies  — 

In  upland  pastures, 

Dim  and  sweet ; 

But  by  the  dusty  road, 

Where  tired  feet 

Toil  to  and  fro, 

Where  flaunting  sin 

May  see  thy  heavenly  hue, 

Or  weary  sorrow  look  from  thee 

Toward  that  tenderer  blue. 


21 
MAGGIE  TULLIVER 

George  Eliot 

George  Eliot  was  the  assumed  name  of  Mary  Ann  Evans,  who  held 
the  foremost  place  among  women  writers  of  the  nineteenth  century.  Her 
novels  are  faithful  pictures  of  village  and  country  life  in  England.  Among 
the  most  popular  of  her  books  is  The  Mill  on  the  Floss,  the  early  chapters 
of  which  deal  with  Maggie  Tulliver's  girlhood.    George  Eliot  died  in  1880.     5 

"  Maggie,"  said  Mrs.  Tulliver,  beckoning  Maggie  to  her 
and  whispering  in  her  ear,  "  go  and  get  your  hair  brushed." 

"  Tom,  come  out  with  me,"  whispered  Maggie,  pulling 
her  brother's  sleeve  as  she  passed  him ;  and  Tom  followed 
willingly  enough.  10 

"  Come  upstairs  with  me,  Tom,"  she  whispered,  when 
they  were  outside  the  door.  "  There  's  something  I  want 
to  do  before  dinner." 

"  There  's  no  time  to  play  at  anything  before  dinner," 
said  Tom,  whose  imagination  was  impatient  of  any  inter-  15 
mediate  prospect. 

"  Oh,  yes,  there  is  time  for  this ;  do  come,  Tom." 

Tom  followed  Maggie  upstairs  into  her  mother's  room, 
and  saw  her  go  at  once  to  a  drawer,  from  which  she  took 
out  a  large  pair  of  scissors.  20 

"What  are  they  for,  Maggie?"  said  Tom,  feeling  his 
curiosity  awakened. 

Maggie  answered  by  seizing  her  front  locks  and  cutting 
them  straight  across  the  middle  of  her  forehead. 


22 

"  Oh,  Maggie,"  exclaimed  Tom,  "  you  'd  better  not  cut 
off  any  more." 

Snip !    went  the  great  scissors  again  while   Tom  was 
speaking ;  and  he  could  n't  help  feeling  it-  was  rather  good 
5  fun :  Maggie  would  look  so  queer. 

"  Here,  Tom,  cut  it  behind  for  me,"  said  Maggie,  excited 
by  her  own  daring,  and  anxious  to  finish  the  deed. 

"You'll  catch  it,  you  know,"  said  Tom,  nodding  his 
head  in  an  admonitory  manner,  and  hesitating  a  little 
10  as  he  took  the  scissors. 

u  Never  mind  —  make  haste!"  said  Maggie,  giving  a 
little  stamp  with  her  foot.    Her  cheeks  were  quite  flushed. 

The  black  locks  were  so  thick — nothing  could  be  more 
tempting  to  a  lad  who  had  already  tasted  the  forbidden 
15  pleasure  of  cutting  the  pony's  mane.  One  delicious  grind- 
ing snip,  and  then  another  and  another  and  the  locks  fell 
heavily  on  the  floor,  and  Maggie  stood  cropped  in  a  jagged, 
uneven  manner,  but  with  a  sense  of  clearness  and  freedom, 
as  if  she  had  emerged  from  a  wood  into  the  open  plain. 
20  u  Oh,  Maggie !  "  said  Tom,  jumping  round  her,  and  slap- 
ping his  knees  as  he  laughed.  "  Oh,  what  a  queer  thing 
you  look  !    Look  at  yourself  in  the  glass  !  " 

Maggie  felt  an  unexpected  pang.    She  had  thought  be- 
forehand chiefly  of  her  own  deliverance  from  her  teasing 
25  hair  and  teasing  remarks  about  it,  and  something  also  of 
the  triumph  she  should  have  over  her  mother  and  her 
aunts  by  this  very  decided  course  of  action.    She  didn't 


23 


! 

-  -; 

II 

24 

want  her  hair  to  look  pretty, — that  was  out  of  the  ques- 
tion ;  she  only  wanted  people  to  think  her  a  clever  little 
girl,  and  not  to  find  fault  with  her.  But  now,  when  Tom 
began  to  laugh  at  her,  the  affair  had  quite  a  new  aspect. 

5  She  looked  in  the  glass,  and  still  Tom  laughed  and  clapped 
his  hands,  and  Maggie's  flushed  cheeks  began  to  pale,  and 
her  lips  to  tremble  a  little. 

"  Oh,  Maggie,  you'll  have  to  go  down  to  dinner  directly," 
said  Tom.    "  Oh,  my  !  " 

10  "  Don't  laugh  at  me,  Tom,"  said  Maggie,  in  a  passionate 
tone,  with  an  outburst  of  angry  tears,  stamping  and  giving 
him  a  push. 

"  What  did  you  cut  it  off  for,  then  ?  "  said  Tom.  "  I  shall 
go  down :  I  can  smell  the  dinner  going  in." 

15  He  hurried  downstairs,  but  Maggie,  as  she  stood  crying 
before  the  glass,  felt  it  impossible  that  she  should  go  down 
to  dinner  and  endure  the  severe  eyes  and  severe  words  of 
her  aunts,  while  Tom  and  Lucy,  and  Martha,  who  waited 
at  table,  and  perhaps  Jier  father  and  her  uncles,  would 

20  laugh  at  her,  —  for  if  Tom  had  laughed  at  her  of  course 
every  one  else  would ;  and  if  she  had  only  let  her  hair 
alone,  she  could  have  sat  with  Tom  and  Lucy,  and  had 
the  apricot  pudding  and  the  custard  !  She  could  see  clearly 
enough,  now  the  thing  was  done,  that  it  was  very  foolish. 

25  What  could  she  do  but  sob  ?  She  sat  as  helpless  and 
despairing  among  her  black  locks  as  Ajax  among  the 
slaughtered  sheep. 


25 

"Maggie,  you  little  silly,"  said  Tom,  peeping  into  the 
room  ten  minutes  after,  "  why  don't  you  come  and  have 
your  dinner  ?  There  are  lots  of  goodies,  and  mother  says 
you  're  to  come.    What  are  you  crying  for  ?  " 

Oh,  it  was  dreadful !  Tom  was  so  hard  and  unconcerned  ;    5 
if  he  had  been  crying  on  the  floor,  Maggie  would  have 
cried  too.    And  there  was  the  dinner;    and  she  was  so 
hungry.    It  was  very  bitter. 

But  Tom  was  not  altogether  hard.  He  was  not  inclined 
to  cry,  and  did  not  feel  that  Maggie's  grief  spoiled  his  10 
prospect  of  the  sweets ;  but  he  went  and  put  his  head 
near  her,  and  said  in  a  lower,  comforting  tone :  "  Won't 
you  come  then,  Magsie  ?  Shall  I  bring  you  a  bit  of  pud- 
ding when  I  've  had  mine  ?  — and  a  custard  and  things  ?  " 

"  Ye-e-es,"  said  Maggie,  beginning  to  feel  life  a  little  15 
more  tolerable. 

"Very  well,"  said  Tom,  going  away.  But  he  turned 
again  at  the  door  and  said :  "  But  you  'd  better  come,  you 
know.    There  's  the  dessert,  —  nuts  and  custards." 

Maggie's  tears  had  ceased,  and  she  looked  reflective  as  20 
Tom  left  her.    His  good-nature  had  taken  off  the  keenest 
edge  of  her  suffering,  and  nuts  and  custards  began  to 
assert  their  legitimate  influence. 

Slowly  she  rose  from  amongst  her  scattered  locks,  and 
slowly  she  made  her  way  downstairs.    Then  she  stood  25 
leaning  with  one  shoulder  against  the  frame  of  the  dining- 
room  door,  peeping  in  when  it  was  ajar.    She  saw  Tom  and 


26 

Lucy  with  an  empty  chair  between  them,  and  there  were 
the  custards  on  a  side  table,  —  it  was  too  much.  She 
slipped  in  and  went  toward  the  empty  chair.  But  she  had 
no  sooner  sat  down  than  she  repented  and  wished  herself 

5  back  again. 

Mrs.  Tulliver  gave  a  little  scream  as  she  saw  her,  and 
felt  such  a  "  turn  "  that  she  dropped  the  large  gravy  spoon 
into  the  dish  with  the  most  serious  results  to  the  table- 
cloth.   Her  scream  made  all  eyes  turn  toward  the  same 

10  point  as  her  own,  and  Maggie's  cheeks  and  ears  began 
to  burn,  while  Uncle  Glegg,  a  kind-looking,  white-haired 
old  gentleman,  said  :  "  Heyday !  What  little  girl  is  this  ? 
Why,  I  don't  know  her !  Is  it  some  little  girl  you've  picked 
up  in  the  road  ?  " 

15  "  Why,  little  miss,  you  've  made  yourself  look  very 
funny,"  said  Uncle  Pullet ;  and  perhaps  he  never  in  his  life 
made  an  observation  which  was  felt  to  be  so  lacerating. 

"  Fie,  for  shame  ! "  said  Aunt  Glegg,  in  her  loudest, 
severest  tones  of  reproof.    "  Little  girls  who  cut  their  own 

20  hair  should  be  fed  on  bread  and  water,  —  not  come  and  sit 
down  with  their  aunts  and  uncles." 

"  Ay,  ay,"  said  Uncle  Glegg,  meaning  to  give  a  playful 
turn  to  this  denunciation,  "  she  must  be  sent  to  jail,  I 
think,  and  they  '11  cut  off  the  rest  of  her  hair  there  and 

25  make  it  all  even." 

"  She  's  more  like  a  gypsy  than  ever,"  said  Aunt  Pullet 
in  a  pitying  tone. 


27 

Maggie  seemed  to  be  listening  to  a  chorus  of  reproach 
and  derision.    Her  first  flush  came  from  anger,  which  gave 
her  a  transient  power  of  defiance,  and  Tom  thought  she 
was  braving  it  out,  supported  by  the  recent  appearance  of  ■ 
the  pudding  and  custard.    Under  this  impression  he  whis-   5 
pered,  "  Oh,  my  !  Maggie,  I  told  you  you  'd  catch  it."   He 
meant  to  be  friendly,  but  Maggie  felt  convinced  that  Tom 
was  rejoicing  in  her  ignominy.    Her  feeble  power  of  defi- 
ance left  her  in  an  instant,  her  heart  swelled,  and,  getting 
up  from  her  chair,  she  ran  to  her  father,  hid  her  face  on  10 
his  shoulder,  and  burst  into  loud  sobbing. 

"Come,  come,"  said  Mr.  Tulliver  soothingly,  putting 
his  arm  round  her.  "  Never  mind.  You  were  in  the  right 
to  cut  it  off  if  it  plagued  you ;  stop  crying ;  father  will 
take  your  part."  is 

Delicious  words  of  tenderness !  Maggie  never  forgot 
any  of  these  moments  when  her  father  "took  her  part" ; 
she  kept  them  in  her  heart  and  thought  of  them  long 
years  after. 

"  How  your  husband  does  spoil  that  child,  Bessy  !  "  said  20 
Mrs.  Glegg  in  a  loud  "  aside  "  to  Mrs.  Tulliver.    "  It  '11  be 
the  ruin  of  her  if  you  don't  take  care." 

Abridged  from  The  Mill  on  the  Floss 

apricot  (a'prl  cot)  :  a  foreign  fruit,  now  common  in  temperate  climates. 
—  Ajax :  a  Greek  hero  who  in  a  fit  of  madness  mistook  his  flocks  of  sheep  for 
his  enemies  and  killed  them  all. — lacerating:  cutting. — transient:  brief. — 
ignominy  (lg'no  mlny):  disgrace. — aside:  something  spoken  aside  or 
privately. 


28 


BEFORE  THE  RAIN 

Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich 

Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich  (1836-1907)  was  a  writer  of  delightful  prose 
as  well  as  exquisite  verse.  His  Story  of  a  Bad  Boy  and  Marjorie  Daw  are 
deservedly  popular.    The  lyric  quality  of  his  poetry  is  strongly  marked. 

We  knew  it  would  rain,  for  all  the  morn 
5  A  spirit  on  slender  ropes  of  mist 

Was  lowering  its  golden  buckets  down 
Into  the  vapory  amethyst 

Of  marshes  and  swamps  and  dismal  fens  — 
Scooping  the  dew  that  lay  in  the  flowers, 
10  Dipping  the  jewels  out  of  the  sea, 

To  sprinkle  them  over  the  land  in  showers. 

We  knew  it  would  rain,  for  the  poplars  showed 

The  white  of  their  leaves,  the  amber  grain 
Shrunk  in  the  wind  —  and  the  lightning  now 
15  Is  tangled  in  tremulous  skeins  of  rain ! 


29 

LOST  IN  THE  STORM 

William  J.  Long 

William  J.  Long  is  an  American  author  and  naturalist.  His  books 
describe  his  studies  of  life  in  the  wilderness  and  are  full  of  interest  and 
entertainment.    This  selection  is  from  Northern  Trails. 

Winter  had  come,  sealing  up  the  gloomy  land  till  it  rang 
like  iron  at  the  touch,  then  covering  it  deep  with  snow  5 
and  polishing  its  mute  white  face  with  hoarfrost  and  hail 
driven  onward  by  the  fierce  Arctic  gales.  An  appalling 
silence  rested  on  plains  and  mountains.  Not  a  chirp,  not 
even  a  rustle  broke  the  intense,  unnatural  stillness.  One 
might  travel  all  day  long  without  a  sight  or  sound  of  life.  10 

Over  the  great  barren  in  the  gloomy  spruce  woods  an 
Indian  lodge  lay  hidden,  buried  deep  under  Newfoundland 
snows.  . 

Here  the  fishermen  lived,  sleeping  away  the  bitter  win- 
ter. In  the  late  autumn  they  had  left  the  fishing  village  at  15 
Harbor  Weal,  driven  out  like  the  wild  ducks  by  the  fierce 
gales  that  raged  over  the  whole  coast.  With  their  abun- 
dant families  and  scant  provisions  they  had  followed  the 
trail  up  the  Southwest  Brook  till  it  doubled  around  the 
mountain  and  led  into  a  great  silent  wood,  sheltered  on  20 
every  side  by  the  encircling  hills. 

Here  the  tilts  were  built  with  double  walls,  filled  in  be- 
tween with  leaves  and  moss,  to  help  the  little  stoves  that 


30 

struggled  bravely  with  the  terrible  cold  ;  and  the  roofs 
were  covered  over  with  poles  and  bark,  or  with  the  brown 
sails  that  had  once  driven  the  fishing  boats  out  and  in  on 
the  wings  of  the  gale. 
5  The  high  mountains  on  the  west  stood  between  the  In- 
dians and  the  icy  winds  that  swept  down  over  the  sea  from 
the  Labrador  and  the  Arctic  wastes ;  wood  in  abundance 
was  at  their  doors,  and  the  trout  stream  that  sang  all  day 
long  under  its  bridges  of  snow  and  ice  was  always  ready  to 

10  brim  their  kettles  out  of  its  abundance. 

So  the  new  life  began  pleasantly  enough;  but  as  the 
winter  wore  away  and  provisions  grew  scarce  and  game 
vanished  from  the  coverts,  the  Indians  felt  the  fearful 
pinch  of  famine.    Every  morning  now  a  confused  circle  of 

15  tracks  in  the  snow  showed  where  the  wild  prowlers  of  the 
woods  had  come  and  sniffed  at  the  very  doors  of  the  tilts 
in  their  ravening  hunger. 

Noel's  father  was  far  away,  trapping,  in  the  interior; 
and  to  Noel,  with  his  snares  and  his  bow  and  arrows,  fell 

20  the  task  of  supplying  the  family's  need  when  the  stock  of 
dried  fish  melted  away.  One  March  morning  he  had  started 
with  his  sister  Mooka  at  daylight  to  cross  the  mountains 
to  some  great  barrens  where  he  had  found  tracks  and 
knew  that  a  few  herds  of  caribou  were  still  feeding.    The 

25  sun  was  dimmed  as  it  rose,  and  the  sundogs  gave  mute 
warning  of  a  coming  storm ;  but  the  cupboard  was  empty 
at  home  and  they  hurried  on  unheeding,  —  Noel  with  his 


31 

bow  and  arrows,  Mooka  with  a  little  bag  containing  a  loaf 
and  a  few  dried  caplin.  Peering  under  every  brush  pile 
for  the  shining  eyes  of  a  rabbit,  they  picked  up  one  big 
grouse  and  a  few  ptarmigan  among  the  bowlders  of  a  great 
bare  hillside.  On  the  edges  of  the  great  barren  under  the  5 
Top  Gallants  they  found  the  fresh  tracks  of  feeding  cari- 
bou, and  were  following  eagerly  when  they  ran  plump 
into  a  wolf  trail. 

Now  by  every  law  of  the  chase  the  game  belonged  to 
these  earlier  hunters  ;  and  by  every  power  in  their  gaunt,  10 
famished  bodies  the  wolves  meant  to  have  it.  So  said  the 
trail.  Every  stealthy  advance  in  single  file  across  the 
open,  every  swift  rush  over  the  hollows  that  might  hide 
them  from  eyes  watching  back  from  the  distant  woods, 
showed  the  wolves'  purpose  clear  as  daylight ;  and  had  15 
Noel  been  wiser  he  would  have  read  a  warning  from  the 
snow  and  turned  aside.  But  he  only  pressed  on  more 
eagerly  than  before. 

The  children  were  watching  a  faint  cloud  of  mist,  the 
breath  of   caribou,  that  blurred  at  times  the   dark  tree  20 
line  in  the  distance,  when  one  of  those  mysterious  warn- 
ings that  befall  the  hunter  in  the  far  North  rested  upon 
them  suddenly  like  a  heavy  hand. 

I  know  not  what  it  is,  —  what  lesser  pressure  of  air,  to 
which  we  respond  like  a  barometer ;  or  what  unknown  25 
chords  there  are  within  us  that  sleep  for  years  in  the 
midst  of  society  and  that  waken  and  answer,  like  an 


32 

animal's,  to  the  subtle  influence  of  nature, — but  one  can 
never  be  watched  by  an  unseen  wild  animal  without  feeling 
it  vaguely ;  and  one  can  never  be  so  keen  on  the  trail  that 
the  storm,  before  it  breaks,  will  not  whisper  a  warning  to 
5  turn  back  to  shelter  before  it  is  too  late.    To  Noel  and 


Mooka,  alone  on  the  barrens,  the  sun  was  no  dimmer  than 
before ;  the  heavy  gray  bank  of  clouds  still  held  sullenly 
to  its  place  on  the  horizon;  and  no  eyes,  however  keen, 
would  have  noticed  the  tiny  dark  spots  that  centered  and 
10  glowed  upon  them  over  the  rim  of  the  little  hollow  where 
the  wolves  were  watching.  Nevertheless,  a  sudden  chill 
fell  upon  them  both.  They  stopped  abruptly,  shivering  a 
bit,  drawing  closer  together  and  scanning  the  waste  keenly 
to  know  what  it  all  meant. 


33 

"  The  storm  !  "  said  Noel  sharply  ;  and  without  another 
word  they  turned  and  hurried  back  on  their  own  trail.  In 
a  short  half  hour  the  world  would  be  swallowed  up  in 
chaos.  To  be  caught  out  on  the  barrens  meant  to  be  lost ; 
and  to  be  lost  here  without  fire  and  shelter  meant  death,  5 
swift  and  sure.  So  they  ran  on,  hoping  to  strike  the 
woods  before  the  blizzard  burst  upon  them. 

They  were  scarcely  halfway  to  shelter  when  the  white 
flakes  began  to  whirl  around  them.  With  startling,  terri- 
ble swiftness  the  familiar  world  vanished ;  the  guiding  10 
trail  was  blotted  out,  and  nothing  but  a  wolf's  instinct 
could  have  held  a  straight  course  in  the  blinding  fury  of 
the  storm.  Still  they  held  on  bravely,  trying  in  vain  to 
keep  their  direction  by  the  eddying  winds,  till  Mooka 
stumbled  twice  at  the  same  hollow  over  a  hidden  brook,  15 
and  they  knew  they  were  running  blindly  in  a  circle  of 
death.  Frightened  at  the  discovery  they  turned,  as  the 
caribou  do,  keeping  their  backs  steadily  to  the  winds,  and 
drifted  slowly  away  down  the  long  barren. 

Hour  after  hour  they  struggled  on,  hand  in  hand,  with-  20 
out  a  thought  of  where  they  were  going.  Twice  Mooka 
fell  and  lay  still,  but  was  dragged  to  her  feet  and  hurried 
onward  again.  The  little  hunter's  own  strength  was  al- 
most gone,  when  a  low  moan  rose  steadily  above  the  howl 
and  hiss  of  the  gale.  It  was  the  spruce  woods,  bending  25 
their  tops  to  the  blast  and  groaning  at  the  strain.  With  a 
wild  whoop  Noel  plunged  forward,  and  the  next  instant 


34 

they  were  safe  within  the  woods.    All  around  them  the. 

flakes  sifted  steadily,  silently  down  into  the  thick  covert, 

while  the  storm  passed  with  a  great  roar  over  their  heads. 

They  tumbled   into   the  snow  and  lay  for  a  moment 

5  utterly  relaxed,  like  two  tired  animals,  in  that  brief,  deli- 
cious rest  which  follows  a  terrible  struggle  with  the  storm 
and  cold. 

First  they  ate  a  little  of  their  bread  and  fish  to  keep  up 
their  spirits ;  then  —  for  the  storm  that  was  upon  them 

10  might  last  for  days  —  they  set  about  preparing  a  shelter. 
With  a  little  search,  whooping  to  each  other  lest  th.ey 
stray  away,  they  found  a  big  dry  stub  that  some  gale  had 
snapped  off  a  few  feet  above  the  snow.  While  Mooka 
scurried  about,  collecting  birch  bark  and  armfuls  of  dry 

15  branches,  Noel  took  off  his  snowshoes  and  began  with  one 
of  them  to  shovel  away  the  snow  in  a  semicircle  around 
the  base  of  the  stub.  In  a  short  half  hour  he  had  a  deep 
hole  there,  with  the  snow  banked  up  around  it  to  the 
height  of  his  head.    Next  with  his  knife  he  cut  a  lot  of 

20  light  poles  and  scrub  spruces  and,  sticking  the  butts  in  his 
snowbank,  laid  the  tops,  like  the  sticks  of  a  wigwam, 
firmly  against  the  big  stub.  A  few  armfuls  of  spruce 
boughs  shingled  over  this  roof,  and  a  few  minutes'  work 
shoveling  snow  thickly  upon  them  to  hold  them  in  place 

25  and  to  make  a  warm  covering ;  then  a  doorway,  or  rather 
a  narrow  tunnel,  just  beyond  the  stub  on  the  straight  side 
of  the  semicircle,  and  their  commoosie  was  all  ready.    Let 


35 

the  storm  roar  and  the  snow  sift  down !  The  thicker  it 
fell  the  warmer  would  be  their  shelter.  They  laughed  and 
shouted  now  as  they  scurried  out  and  in,  bringing  boughs 
for  a  bed  and  the  firewood  which  Mooka  had  gathered. 

Against  the  base  of  the  dry  stub  they  built  their  fire,  —   5 
a  wee,  sociable  little  fire  such  as  an  Indian  always  builds, 
which  is  far  better  than  a  big  one,  for  it  draws  you  near 
and  welcomes  you  cheerily,  instead  of  driving  you  away 
by  its  smoke  and  great  heat.    Soon  the  big  stub  itself  be- 
gan to  burn,  glowing  steadily  with  a  heat  that  filled  the  10 
snug  little  commoosie,  while  the  smoke  found  its  way  out 
of  the  hole  in  the  roof  which  Noel  had  left  for  that  pur- 
pose.   Later  the  stub  burned  through  to  its  hollow  center, 
and  then  they  had  a  famous  chimney,  which  soon  grew 
hot  and  glowing  inside,  and  added  its  mite  to  the  children's  16 
comfort. 

Noel  and  Mooka  were  drowsy  now ;  but  before  the  long 
night  closed  in  upon  them  they  had  gathered  more  wood, 
and  laid  aside  some  wisps  of  birch  bark  to  use  when  they 
should  awake,  cold  and  shivering,  and  find  their  little  fire  20 
gone  out  and  the  big  stub  losing  its  cheery  glow.  Then 
they  lay  down  to  rest,  and  the  night  and  the  storm  rolled 
on  unheeded. 

Towards  morning  they  fell  into  a  heavy  sleep ;  for  the 
stub  began  to  burn  more  freely  as  the  wind  changed,  and  25 
they  need  not  stir  every  half  hour  to  feed  their  little  fire 
and  keep  from  freezing.    It  was  broad  daylight,  the  storm 


36 

had  ceased,  and  a  woodpecker  was  hammering  loudly  on 
a  hollow  shell  over  their  heads  when  they  started  up, 
wondering  vaguely  where  they  were.  Then  while  Noel 
broke  out  of  the  commoosie,  which  was  fairly  buried  under 

5  the  snow,  to  find  out  where  he  was,  Mooka  rebuilt  the 
fire  and  plucked  a  ptarmigan  and  set  it  to  toasting  with 
the  last  of  their  bread  over  the  coals. 

Noel  came  back  soon  with  a  cheery  whoop  to  tell  the 
little  cook  that  they  had  drifted  before  the  storm  down 

10  the  whole  length  of  the  great  barren,  and  were  camped 
now  on  the  opposite  side,  just  under  the  highest  ridge  of 
the  Top  Gallants.  There  was  not  a  track  on  the  barrens, 
he  said  ;  not  a  sign  of  wolf  or  caribou,  which  had  probably 
wandered  deeper  into  the  woods  for  shelter.    So  they  ate 

15  their  bread  to  the  last  crumb  and  their  bird  to  the  last 
bone,  and,  giving  up  all  thought  of  hunting,  started  up 
the  big  barren,  heading  for  the  distant  lodge,  where  they 
had  long  since  been  given  up  for  lost. 

barren :  an  open,  level  space  surrounded  by  dense  woods.  The  barrens 
are  the  beds  of  ancient  ponds  or  lakes.  — tilts  :  log  huts  or  cabins  built  in 
some  sheltered  valley  for  winter  lodges. — caribou  (k&r'I  bob)  :  the  American 
reindeer.  —  sun  dogs  :  luminous  spots  near  the  sun,  supposed  to  be  due  to 
ice  in  the  atmosphere.  —  caplin  :  small  fish,  resembling  smelts,  found  in 
arctic  seas.  —  grouse  and  ptarmigan  (t&r'ml  gan)  :  birds  akin  to  the  pheasant 
and  the  partridge  but  distinguished  by  their  feathered  feet.  —  earlier 
hunters  :  the  wolves.  —  commoosie  :  a  shelter  for  the  night,  sometimes  made 
in  the  form  of  a  shed  open  in  front  to  admit  heat  from  the  fire.  —  Top 
Gallants  :  high  ridges  in  the  wild  interior. 


37 


^>-!VV 


^B 


* ^>-:  -  .t-s'J^ 


THE  SNOWSTORM 

John  Towxsexd  Trowbridge 

John  Townsknd  Trowbridge,  an  American  author  and  editor,  was 
born  in  1827. 


The  speckled  sky  is  dim  with,  snow, 
The  light  flakes  falter  and  fall  slow ; 
Athwart  the  hilltop,  rapt  and  pale, 
Silently  drops  a  silvery  veil ; 
And  all  the  valley  is  shut  in 
By  flickering  curtains  gray  and  thin. 


38 

But  cheerily  the  chickadee 
Singeth  to  me  on  fence  and  tree ; 
The  snow  sails  round  him  as  he  sings, 
White  as  the  down  of  angels'  wings. 

5  I  watch  the  slow  flakes  as  they  fall 

On  bank  and  brier  and  broken  wall ; 
Over  the  orchard,  waste  and  brown, 
.  All  noiselessly  they  settle  down, 
Tipping  the  apple  boughs  and  each 
10  Light  quivering  twig  of  plum  and  peach. 

On  turf  and  curb  and  bower  roof 
The  snowstorm  spreads  its  ivory  woof ; 
It  paves  with  pearl  the  garden  walk  ; 
And  lovingly  round  tattered  stalk 
15  And  shivering  stem  its  magic  weaves 

A  mantle  fair  as  lily  leaves. 

The  hooded  beehive,  small  and  low, 
Stands  like  a  maiden  in  the  snow ; 
And  the  old  door  slab  is  half  hid 
20  Under  an  alabaster  lid. 

All  day  it  snows :  the  sheeted  post 
.    Gleams  in  the  dimness  like  a  ghost ; 
All  day  the  blasted  oak  has  stood 
A  muffled  wizard  of  the  wood ; 
25  Garland  and  airy  cap  adorn 


39 

The  sumach  and  the  wayside  thorn, 
And  clustering  spangles  lodge  and  shine 
In  the  dark  tresses  of  the  pine. 

The  ragged  bramble,  dwarfed  and  old, 
Shrinks  like  a  beggar  in  the  cold  ; 
In  surplice  white  the  cedar  stands, 
And  blesses  him  with  priestly  hands. 

Still  cheerily  the  chickadee 

Singetb  to  me  on  fence  and  tree  : 

But  in  my  inmost  ear  is  heard 

The  music  of  a  holier  bird  ; 

And  heavenly  thoughts  as  soft  and  white 

As  snowflakes  on  my  soul  alight, 

Clothing  with  love  my  lonely  heart, 

Healing  with  peace  each  bruised  part, 

Till  all  my  being  seems  to  be 

Transfigured  by  their  purity. 


10 


16 


40 
THE  DANCING  DOGS 

Hector  Malot 

Hector  Malot  (malo)  (1830-1907)  was  a  French  author  whose  mas- 
terpiece, Sans  Famille,  has  been  called  by  contemporary  critics  "  an  incom- 
parable romance." 

Note.  The  little  French  boy  who  tells  the  story  of  Sans  Famille, 
5  from  which  this  selection  is  taken,  is  the  assistant  of  a  traveling  show- 
man. Three  dogs  and  a  monkey,  named  Joli-Coeur,  make  up  the  company 
of  players.  Owing  to  the  monkey's  misbehavior,  there  has  been  some 
trouble  with  the  police,  and  the  showman  has  been  arrested  for  protecting 
the  boy  from  brutal  treatment. 

10  I  came  at  last  to  the  shore  of  the  Southern  Canal,  and 
after  traveling  in  the  dust  ever  since  I  left  Toulouse,  I 
found  myself  in  a  fresh,  green  country,  with  water,  trees, 
grass,  and  a  little  spring  which  trickled  through  the  crev- 
ices of  a  rock  carpeted  with  plants.    It  was  charming. 

15  Imperceptibly  drowsiness  stole  over  me  and  I  fell  asleep. 

When  I  awoke  the  sun  was  high  above  my  head  and 

hours  had  gone  by.    But  I  did  not  need  the  sun  to  tell  me 

that  it  was  a  long  time  since  I  had  eaten  my  last  bit  of 

bread.    The  two  dogs  and  Joli-Coeur,  on  their  part,  showed 

20  that  they  were  hungry,  —  Capi  and  Dolci  by  their  piteous 
looks  and  Joli-Coeur  by  his  grimaces.  And  Zerbino  had 
not  yet  appeared.  I  called,  I  whistled,  but  in  vain.  He 
did  not  come.  He  was  probably  digesting  his  breakfast 
under  some  bush. 

25  My  situation  was  becoming  critical.  If  I  went  on,  he 
might  get  lost  and  not  rejoin  us ;  if  I  stayed  where  I  was, 


41 

I  should  find  no  chance  to  earn  a  few  pennies  to  buy  food. 
And  this  same  need  of  eating  became  more  and  more  im- 
perious. The  eyes  of  the  dogs  were  fastened  on  mine  de- 
spairingly, and  Joli-Cceur  rubbed  his  stomach  and  uttered 
little  angry  cries.  5 

What  was  I  to  do  ? 

Although  Zerbino  was  guilty  and  through  his  fault  we 
were  placed  in  a  terrible  situation,  I  could  not  make  up 
my  mind  to  abandon  him.    What  would  my  master  say  if 
I  did  not  bring  back  his  three  dogs  ?  And  in  spite  of  every-  10 
thing  I  was  very  fond  of  that  rascal,  Zerbino. 

1  decided  to  wait  until  evening,  but  I  could  not  remain 
idle.    I  must  invent  something  which  would  keep  all  four 
of  us  busy  and  would  distract  our  thoughts.    If  we  could 
only  forget  that  we  were  hungry,  we  should  assuredly  15 
suffer  less.    But  what  could  we  do  ? 

While  I  was  pondering  on  this  question  I  recollected 
that  my  master  had  told  me  that  in  the  army,  when  a 
regiment  was  fatigued  by  a  long  march,  the  soldiers  would 
forget  their  weariness  in  listening  to  gay  tunes  played  by  20 
the  band.  If  I  should  play  a  lively  air,  perhaps  we  might 
forget  our  hunger ;  at  any  rate,  while  we  were  kept  busy 
with  singing  and  dancing  the  time  would  pass  more  rapidly. 

I  took  my  harp,  which  was  propped  up  against  a  tree, 
and,  turning  my  back  on  the  canal,  I  arranged  my  players  25 
in  position  and  began  a  waltz.    At  first  my  actors  did  not 
seem  disposed  to  dance;   plainly  a  piece  of  bread  would 


42 

have  been  more  to  their  liking,  but  little  by  little  they 
grew  lively,  the  music  produced  the  desired  effect,  we  for- 
got the  bread  that  we  did  not  have,  and  I  thought  only  of 
playing  and  the  dogs  of  dancing. 


5  Suddenly  I  heard  a  clear,  childish  voice  cry,  "  Bravo  !  " 
The  sound  came  from  behind  me.  I  turned  quickly.  On 
the  canal  a  boat  had  turned  toward  the  shore  where  I  was 
standing  ;  the  two  horses  that  drew  it  had  halted  on  the 
opposite  bank.    I  had  never  seen  such  a  strange  boat !    It 

10  was  much  shorter  than  the  barges  which  were  ordinarily 


43 

used  for  navigation  on  the  canals,  and  on  the  bridge,  raised 
a  little  above  the  water,  was  built  a  kind  of  gallery  of 
glass  ;  in  front  of  this  was  a  veranda  shaded  by  vines. 
There  I  saw  two  persons  :  a  lady  still  young,  with  a  sweet 
but  sad  expression,  was  standing  beside  a  boy  about  my  5 
own  age,  who  was  lying  down.  Doubtless  it  was  this 
child  who  had  cried,  "  Bravo  !  " 

Recovering  from  my  surprise,  for  this  apparition  was 
not  in  the  least  terrifying,  I  took  off  my  hat  to  thank  the 
one  who  had  applauded  me.  10 

"Do  you  play  for  your  own  amusement?"  asked  the 
lady. 

"  I  do  it  to  make  my  players  work  and  also  —  to  divert 
my  thoughts." 

The  child  made  some  sign  and  the  lady  bent  over  him.  15 

"Are  you  willing  to  play  again?"  she  asked,  raising 
her  head. 

Was  I  willing  to  play !  To  play  to  a  public  which  had 
come  so  opportunely !    I  did  not  require  much  pressing. 

"  Should  you  like  a  dance  or  a  comedy  ?  "  I  asked.  20 

"  Oh,  a  comedy !  "  cried  the  child. 

But  the  lady  interrupted,  saying  that  she  should  prefer 
a  dance. 

"  That  is  too  short,"  said  the  boy. 

"  After  the  dance,  if  the  honorable  audience  so  desires,  25 
we  can  go  through  different  tricks,  such  as  are  performed 
in  the  Paris  circuses." 


44 

This  was  one  of  my  master's  phrases ;  I  tried  to  deliver 
it  with  his  dignified  air.  On  reflection  I  was  relieved  that 
she  had  refused  the  comedy,  for  I  should  have  had  some 
difficulty  in  representing  it,  as  Zerbino  was  missing  and 
5  as  I  did  not  have  the  necessary  costumes  and  accessories. 
I  took  up  my  harp  again  and  began  to  play  a  waltz; 
immediately  Capi  encircled  Dolci's  waist  with  his  two 
paws  and  they  turned  round  and  round  in  time  to  the 
music.    Then  Joli-Cceur  danced  alone.    We  went  in  suc- 

10  cession  through  our  whole  repertory.  We  felt  no  fatigue. 
As  for  my  players,  they  certainly  understood  that  a  dinner 
would  be  the  reward  of  their  efforts,  and  they  spared 
themselves  no  more  than  I  did. 

Suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  my  exercises,  I  beheld  Zerbino 

15  coming  out  from  under  a  bush,  and  when  his  comrades 
passed  near  him  he  took  his  place  impudently  in  their 
midst. 

While  playing   and   keeping   watch   over   my   actors, 
I  looked  from  time  to  time  at  the  little  boy,  and  noticed 

20  that,  strangely  enough,  although  he  seemed  to  take  great 
pleasure  in  our  performance,  he  did  not  move,  but  lay 
there,  stretched  out,  in  complete  immobility,  except  when 
he  clapped  his  hands  to  applaud  us.  He  looked  as  if  he 
were  fastened  to  a  board. 

25  Imperceptibly  the  wind  had  blown  the  boat  up  to  the 
bank  where  I  stood,  and  I  now  saw  the  child  as  plainly 
as  if  I  had  been  on  the  boat  beside  him :  he  had  fair  hair, 


45 

his  face  was  pale,  —  so  pale  that  you  saw  the  blue  veins 
on  his  forehead  under  his  transparent  skin,  —  and  his  ex- 
pression was  gentle  and  sad,  with  something  in  it  that  told 
of  sickness  and  suffering. 

"What  do  you  charge  for  seats  in  your  theater?"  the    5 
lady  asked  me. 

"  Each  one  pays  according  to  the  pleasure  he  has  felt." 

"  Then,  mamma,  we  must  pay  a  high  price,"  said  the 
child.  He  added  some  words  in  a  language  that  I  did 
not  understand.  10 

"Arthur  wishes  to  see  your  actors  nearer,"  the  lady 
said  to  me. 

I  made  a  sign  to  Capi,  who  took  a  little  run  and  jumped 
into  the  boat. 

"  And  the  others,  too,"  cried  Arthur.  15 

Zerbino  and  Dolci  followed  their  comrade. 

"And  the  monkey?" 

Joli-Cceur  could  easily  have  jumped  across,  but  I  was 
never  sure  of  him  ;  once  on  board  he  might  indulge  in 
tricks  that  perhaps  would  not  be  to  the  lady's  taste.  20 

"  Is  he  mischievous  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"  No,  madam,  but  he  is  not  always  obedient,  and  I  am 
afraid  that  he  may  not  behave  properly." 

"  Oh,  well,  come  on  board  with  him." 

Saying  this,  she  signed  to  the  man  who  was  standing  25* 
at  the  stern  by  the  rudder,  and  he  came  forward  at  once 
and  threw  a  plank  to  the  shore. 


46 

Here  was  a  bridge.  It  enabled  me  to  embark  without 
taking  the  perilous  jump,  and  I  came  on  board  soberly, 
my  harp  on  my  shoulder,  and' Joli-Cceur  in  my  hand. 

"  The  monkey  !  the  monkey  !  "  cried  Arthur. 
5      I   went    nearer,    and    while  he   patted  Joli-Cceur  and 
caressed  him  I  could  examine  the  boy  at  my  leisure.    He 
was  really  fastened  to  a  board,  as  I  had  thought  at  first. 

"  Is  there  no  one  to  take  care  of  you,  my  child  ?  "  the 
lady  asked  me. 
10      "  Yes,  but  I  am  alone  just  now." 

"  For  a  long  while  ?  " 

"  For  two  months." 

"  Two  months !   Oh,  my  poor  little  one  !  Why  are  you 
alone  for  so  long  a  time  ?  " 
15      "  It  is  necessary,  madam." 

"  Your  master  probably  obliges  you  to  bring  him  a  sum 
of  money  at  the  end  of  those  two  months  ?  " 

"  No,  madam,  he  demands  nothing.    So  long  as  I  can 
earn  my  living  with  my  company,  that  is  enough." 
20      "  And  have  you  earned  a  living  up  to  to-day  ?  " 

I  hesitated  before  I  answered.  I  had  never  seen  any 
one  who  inspired  a  feeling  of  respect  as  did  this  woman 
who  questioned  me.  She  spoke  to  me  with  so  much  kind- 
ness, her  voice  was  so  sweet  and  her  manner  so  encour- 
'25  aging,  that  I  decided  to  tell  th#e  truth.  Moreover,  why 
should  I  keep  silence  ?  So  I  told  her  how  I  had  been  sep- 
arated from  my  master,  who  had  been  condemned  to  prison 


47 

for  having  defended  me,  and  how,  since  I  had  left  Tou- 
louse, I  had  not  been  able  to  earn  a  cent. 

While  I  was  speaking  Arthur  played  with  the  dogs,  but 
he  was  listening  and  he  understood  what  I  said. 

"  How  hungry  you  must  be  !  "  he  cried.  5 

At  this  word,  which  they  understood  perfectly,  the 
dogs  began  to  bark  and  Joli-Cceur  rubbed  his  stomach 
frantically. 

"  Oh,  mamma  !  "  cried  Arthur. 

His  mother  understood  that  appeal.    She  said  a  few  10 
words  in  a  strange  language  to  a  woman  who  appeared 
at  a  half-open  door,  and  who  presently  brought  out  a 
little  table  set  for  a  meal. 

"  Sit  down,  my  child,"  said  the  lady  to  me. 

I  did  not  need  any  urging.    I  sat  down  quickly  before  15 
the  table,  while  the  dogs  arranged  themselves  in  a  row 
about  me,  and  Joli-Cceur  took  his  place  on  my  knee. 

"  Do  your  dogs  eat  bread  ?  "  Arthur  asked  me. 

Would  they  eat  bread !  I  gave  each  of  them  a  morsel, 
which  they  devoured.  20 

"  And  the  monkey  ?  "  said  Arthur. 

But  there  was  no  need  to  worry  about  Joli-Cceur,  for 
while  I  was  serving  the  dogs  he  had  seized  a  bit  of  pie- 
crust over  which  he  was  now  choking  under  the  table. 

As  for  me,  I  took  a  slice  of  bread,  and  if  I  did  not  25 
choke  myself  as  Joli-Cceur  had,  I  devoured  it  quite  as 
ravenously. 


48 

"  Poor  child,"  said  the  lady,  filling  my  glass. 

"  Where  shall  you  dine  this  evening  ?  "  asked  Arthur. 

"  We  shall  not  have  anything  to  eat,"  I  answered. 

"  And  where  shall  you  dine  to-morrow  ?  " 
5      "Perhaps  to-morrow  we  shall  be  as  lucky  as  we  have 
been  to-day." 

Arthur  turned  toward  his  mother  and  entered  into  a 

long  talk  with  her  in  the   strange  language  that  I  had 

already  heard.    He  seemed  to  be  asking  for  some  favor 

10  that  she  was  not  disposed  to  grant,  or  at  least  against 

which  she  raised  some  objections. 

Suddenly  he  turned  his  head. toward  me,  for  he  could 
not  move  his  body,  and  said,  "  Should  you  like  to  stay 
with  us?" 
15      I  looked  at  him  without  answering,  for  this  question 
took  me  by  surprise. 

"  My  son  asks  you  if  you  would  like  to  stay  with  us." 

"  On  this  boat  ?  " 

"Yes,  on  this  boat.  My  son  is  sick,  and  the  doctors 
20  have  ordered  that  he  should  be  fastened  to  a  board,  as  you 
see.  I  travel  with  him  in  this  boat,  so  that  he  shall  not 
become  weary.  You  shall  live  with  us.  Your  dogs  and 
your  monkey  shall  give  their  performances  before  Arthur, 
who  will  be  their  public.  As  for  you,  if  you  are  willing, 
25  my  child,  you  shall  play  to  us  on  your  harp.  Thus  you 
will  render  us  a  service,  and  we,  on  our  side,  may  be 
useful,  perhaps,  to  you." 


49 

To  live  on  a  boat !  This  had  always  been  my  greatest 
desire.    How  fortunate  I  was  ! 

I  took  my  harp  and,  going  forward  into  the  bow,  I 
began  to  play. 

The  boat  was  drawn  from  the  bank  and  was  soon  mov-   5 
ing  over  the  tranquil  surface  of  the  canal.    The  waves 
lapped  against  the  hull  and  the  trees  flew  past  us. 

As  I  look  back  upon  the  days  spent  in  the  boat  I  find 
them  to  be  the  happiest  ones  of  my  childhood.    Not  an 
hour  of  dullness  nor  of  fatigue ;   from  morning  till  night  10 
every  moment  was  filled  with  pleasure. 

When  the  country  was  interesting  we  traveled  only  a 
few  miles  a  day  ;  when  it  was  monotonous  we  went  more 
swiftly. 

However,  pleasant  as  these  new  ways  seemed  to  me,  it  15 
became  necessary,  before  long,  to  bring  them  to  an  end. 
The  time  had  passed  quickly  and  now  the  day  was  fast 
approaching  when  my  master  was  to  be  released  from 
prison. 

Sans  Famille  (sax  fa  me'ye):   homeless.  — Joli-Cceur  (zho  le  cur):  dandy. 

—  Southern  Canal :  this  connects  the  Atlantic  with  the  Mediterranean 

Toulouse  (too-loos')  :  a  city  of  southern  France.  —  Capi  (ka  pe)  :  captain. 

—  Dolci  (dol-che)  :  gentleness.  —  Zerbino  (zar  be'no)  :  a  gallant.  —  reper- 
tory (rep' er  to  ry)  :  list  of  selections. 


50 
THE  TYPHOON 

Joseph  Conrad 

The  life  of  Joseph  Conrad  is  like  a  chapter  from  one  of  his  own  tales 
of  adventure.  He  was  born  in  Poland,  and  at  the  age  of  thirteen,  having 
been  left  an  orphan,  he  made  his  way  first  to  Paris  and  then  to  Marseilles, 
where  he  found  employment  as  a  sailor.  Now  a  master  in  the  merchant 
5  service  of  England,  he  is  also  known  as  one  of  the  foremost  writers  of 
English  prose.    His  sea  stories  are  remarkable  examples  of  word  painting. 

Note.  The  Nan-Shan  is  a  Siamese  vessel  manned  by  British  officers  ; 
Jukes  is  chief  mate.  The  following  pages  describe  the  approach  of  the 
typhoon. 

10  A  plunge  of  the  ship  ended  in  a  shock,  as  if  she  had 
landed  her  fore  foot  upon  something  solid.  After  a  moment 
of  stillness  a  lofty  flight  of  sprays  drove  hard  with  the 
wind  upon  their  faces. 

"Keep  her  at  it  as  long  as  we  can,"  shouted  Captain 

15  Mac  Whirr. 

Before  Jukes  had  squeezed  the  salt  water  out  of  his 
eyes  all  the  stars  had  disappeared.  From  the  first  stir  of 
the  air  on  his  cheek  the  gale  seemed  to  take  upon  itself 
the  impetus  of  an  avalanche.    Heavy  sprays  enveloped  the 

20  Nan-Shan  from  stem  to  stern,  and  in  the  midst  of  her 
regular  rolling  she  began  to  kick  and  plunge.  Jukes  was 
glad  to  have  his  captain  at  hand.  It  relieved  him  as  if 
that  man  had,  by  simply  coming  on  deck,  taken  at  once 
most  of  the  gale's  weight  upon  his  shoulders.    Such  is  the 

25  privilege  and  the  burden  of  command. 


51 

Captain  Mac  Whirr  could  expect  no  comfort  of  that  sort 
from  any  one  on  earth.  Such  is  the  loneliness  of  com- 
mand. The  strong  wind  swept  at  him  out  of  a  vast  ob- 
scurity ;  he  felt  under  his  feet  the  uneasiness  of  his  ship, 
and  he  could  not  discern  even  a  shadow  of  her  shape.  5 

A  faint  burst  of  lightning  quivered  all  around,  as  if 
flashed  into  a  cavern,  —  into  a  black  and  secret  chamber 
of  the  sea,  with  a  floor  of  foaming  crests.  It  unveiled  for 
a  sinister,  fluttering  moment  a  ragged  mass  of  clouds 
hanging  low,  the  lurch  of  the  long  outlines  of  the  ship,  10 
the  black  figures  of  men  on  the  bridge.  The  darkness 
palpitated  down  upon  all  this,  and  then  the  real  thing 
came  at  last. 

It  was  something  formidable  and  swift,  like  the  sudden 
smashing  of  a  vial  of  wrath.    It  seemed  to  explode  all  is 
round  the  ship  with  an  overpowering  concussion  and  a 
rush  of  great  waters,  as  if  an  immense  dam  had  been 
blown  up  to  windward. 

In  an  instant  the  men  lost  touch  of  each  other.    Jukes 
was  driven  away  from  his  commander.    He  fancied  him-  20 
self  whirled  a  great  distance  through  the  air. 

Everything  disappeared,  but  his  hand  had  found  within 
six  feet  of  him  one  of  the  rail  stanchions.  It  saved  his 
body  and  steadied  his  soul  so  far  that  it  became  conscious 
of  an  intolerable  distress.  Though  young,  he  had  seen  25 
some  bad  weather  and  had  never  doubted  his  ability  to 
imagine  the   worst ;    but  this  was   so  much  beyond  his 


52 

powers  of  fancy  that  it  appeared  incompatible  with  the 
existence  of  any  ship  whatever. 

The  rain  poured  on  him,  flowed,  drove  in  sheets.  He 
was  plunged  in  rushing  water,  like  a  diver  holding  on  to 
5  a  stake  planted  in  the  bed  of  a  swollen  river.  He  breathed 
in  gasps,  and  sometimes  the  water  he  swallowed  was  fresh 
and  sometimes  it  was  salt.  For  the  most  part  he  kept  his 
eyes  shut  tight,  as  if  suspecting  his  sight  might  be  de- 
stroyed in  the  immense  flurry  of  the  elements.    When  he 

10  ventured  to  blink  hastily  he  derived  some  moral  support 
from  the  green  gleam  of  the  starboard  light,  shining  feebly 
upon  the  flight  of  rain  and  sprays.  He  was  actually  look- 
ing at  it  when  its  ray  fell  upon  the  uprearing  head  of  the 
sea,  which  put  it  out. 

15  He  saw  the  head  of  the  wave  topple  over,  adding  the 
mite  of  its  crash  to  the  tremendous  uproar  raging  around 
him,  and  almost  at  the  same  instant  the  stanchion  was 
wrenched  from  his  grasp.  After  a  crushing  thump  on  the 
back  he  found  himself  suddenly  afloat  and  borne  away. 

20  His  first  irresistible  notion  was  that  the  whole  China  Sea 
had  climbed  on  the  bridge.  Then,  more  sanely,  he  con- 
cluded himself  gone  overboard.  All  the  time  he  was  being 
tossed,  flung,  and  rolled  in  great  volumes  of  water,  and 
discovered  himself  to  have  become  somehow  mixed  up  with 

25  a  face,  an  oilskin  coat,  somebody's  boots.  He  clawed  fero- 
ciously all  these  things  in  turn,  lost  them,  found  them 
again,  lost  them  once  more,  and  was  caught  in  the  firm 


53 

clasp  of  a  pair  of  stout  arms.  He  had  found  his  captain. 
They  tumbled  over  and  over  each  other,  tightening  their 
hug.  Suddenly  the  water  let  them  down  with  a  brutal 
bang,  and,  stranded  against  the  side  of  the  wheelhouse, 
out  of  breath  and  bruised,  they  were  left  to  stagger  up  in 
the  wind  and  hold  on  where  they  could. 


The  motion  of  the  ship  was  extravagant.  Her  lurches 
had  an  appalling  helplessness.  Both  ends  were  under 
water,  and  the  sea,  flattened  down  in  the  heavier  gusts, 
would  uprise  and  overwhelm  them  in  snowy  rushes  of  10 
foam  expanding  wide,  beyond  both  rails,  into  the  night. 
The  middle  structure  of  the  ship  was  like  a  rock,  with 
the  water  boiling  up,  streaming  over,  pouring  off,  beating 


54 

round,  —  like  a  rock  that  had  been  miraculously  struck 
adrift  from  a  coast  and  gone  wallowing  upon  the  sea. 

When  the  Nan- Shan  came  to  an  anchor  the  sunshine 
was  bright,  the  breeze  fresh.  She  came  in  from  a  green, 
5  hard  sea,  —  green  like  a  furrowed  slab  of  jade  streaked 
and  splashed  with  frosted  silver.  Even  before  her  story 
got  about,,  the  seamen  in  harbor  said :  "  Look !  Look  at 
that  steamer  !  Siamese,  is  n't  she  ?   Just  look  at  her !  " 

She  was  incrusted  and  gray  with  salt  to  the  trucks  of 

10  her  masts  and  to  the  top  of  her  funnel,  u  as  if,"  as  some 

facetious  seaman  said,  "  the  crowd  on  board  had  fished 

her  out  somewhere  from  the  bottom  of  the  sea  and  brought 

her  in  for  salvage." 

She  seemed  indeed  to  have  served  as  a  target  for  the 
15  secondary  batteries  of  a  whole  fleet.  She  had  about  her 
the  worn,  weary  air  of  ships  coming  from  the  far  ends  of 
the  world,  —  and  indeed,  with  truth,  for  in  her  short  pas- 
sage she  had  been  very  far,  sighting  even  the  coast  of 
the   Great   Beyond.  Abridged  from  The  Typhoon 

typhoon:  a  violent  hurricane  occurring  in  the  Chinese  seas.  —  sinister: 
foreboding  danger bridge :  a  raised  platform  on  a  ship  where  the  cap- 
tain and  pilot  stand palpitated:    made  itself  felt. — vial  of  wrath:  a 

familiar  figure  of  speech  in  Hebrew  poetry.  See  Revelation  xvi.  1.  — 
stanchions:  posts.  —  incompatible:  not  agreeing. —  Siamese:  belonging  to 
Siam,  an  Eastern  kingdom.  —  facetious  :  joking.  —  salvage  :  compensation 
allowed  for  saving  a  ship.  —  secondary  batteries  :  the  smaller  guns,  the 
effect  of  which  would  be  to  riddle  rather  than  to  destroy  a  ship. 


55 
LIFE'S  TORCH 

Henry  Newbolt 

Henry  John  Xewbolt  is  an  English  writer  and  poet. 

Note.  The  old  game  of  cricket,  which  is  popular  at  English  schools, 
has  a  few  points  of  resemblance  to  baseball,  but  in  other  ways  it  differs 

widely. 

There  's  a  breathless  hush  in  the  Close  tonight  —         5 

Ten  to  make  and  the  match  to  win  — 
A  bumping  pitch  and  a  blinding  light, 

An  hour  to  play  and  the  last  man  in. 
And  it 's  not  for  the  sake  of  a  ribboned  coat, 

Or  the  selfish  hope  of  a  season's  fame,  10 

But  his  Captain's  hand  on  his  shoulder  smote 

"  Play  up  !  play  up  !  and  play  the  game  !  "  .  .  . 

This  is  the  word  that  year  by  year 

While  in  her  place  the  School  is  set 
Every  one  of  her  sons  must  hear,  15 

And  none  that  hears  it  dare  forget. 
This  they  all  with  a  joyful  mind 

Bear  through  life  like  a  torch  in  flame, 
And  falling  fling  to  the  host  behind  — 

"  Play  up  !  play  up  !  and  play  the  game  !  "  20 

Close  :  an  inclosed  field  or  yard.  —  bumping  pitch  :  an  uneven,  difficult 
ground.  When  regularly  delivered  the  ball  strikes  the  "  pitch  "  between 
the  player  who  serves  the  ball  and  the  batsman. 


56 
ROBINSON  CRUSOE'S  BOAT 

Daniel  Defoe 

Daniel  Defoe  (1661-1731)  was  the  first  English  novelist.  He  began 
life  as  a  tradesman,  but  soon  became  interested  in  politics  and  held  sev- 
eral government  offices.  His  skill  as  a  journalist  led  him  to  invent  stories 
when  real  life  failed  to  supply  him  with  literary  material,  and  he  gradu- 
5  ally  became  a  writer  of  fiction,  although  he  cleverly  gave  to  his  stories 
every  appearance  of  reality.  The  adventures  of  a  certain  sailor  named 
Alexander  Selkirk  furnished  Defoe  with  all  the  foundation  he  needed  for 
his  famous  book,  The  Surprising  Adventures  of  Robinson  Crusoe,  which  was 
published  in  1719. 

10  Note.  Robinson  Crusoe,  a  Yorkshire  sailor,  having  been  shipwrecked 
in  the  Caribbean  Sea,  is  washed  upon  the  shore  of  an  uninhabited  island, 
where  he  lives  for  several  years  alone.  His  experiences  in  adapting  him- 
self to  his  new  life  are  as  full  of  interest  to-day  as  they  were  two  hundred 
years  ago.    His  attempt  to  build  a  boat,  after  seeing,  in  the  far  distance, 

15  a  misty  headland,  is  strikingly  human  at  every  point. 

All  the  while  these  things  were  doing  you  may  be  sure 
my  thoughts  ran  many  times  upon  the  prospect  of  land, 
which  I  had  seen  from  the  other  side  of  the  island ;  and 
I  was  not  without  some  secret  wishes  that  I  was  on  shore 

20  there,  fancying  that  I  might  find  some  way  or  other  to 
convey  myself  farther.  But  I  made  no  allowance  for 
the  dangers  of  such  a  condition,  and  that  I  might  fall 
into  the  hands  of  savages,  such  as  I  might  have  reason 
to  think  far  worse  than  the  lions  and  tigers  of  Africa. 

25  All  these  things  took  up  none  of  my  apprehensions  at 
first ;  yet  my  head  ran  mightily  upon  the  thought  of 
getting  over  to  the  shore. 


57 

At  length  I  began  to  think  whether  it  was  not  possible 
to  make  myself  a  canoe  such  as  the  natives  of  these  cli- 
mates made,  even  without  tools,  of  the  trunk  of  a  great 
tree.  This  1  thought  not  only  possible,  but  easy,  and 
pleased  myself  extremely  with  the  idea  of  making  it,  and  5 
with  my  having  much  more  convenience  for  it  than  any 
of  the  Indians ;  but  not  at  all  considering  the  particular 
inconveniences  that  I  lay  under,  namely,  the  want  of 
hands  to  move  it  into  the  water  when  it  was  made,  —  a 
difficulty  much  harder  for  me  to  surmount  than  all  the  io 
consequences  of  want  of  tools  could  be  to  them. 

One  would  imagine  that  I  should  have  immediately 
thought  how  I  was  to  get  my  boat  into  the  sea ;  but  I 
was  so  intent  upon  my  voyage  in  it  that  I  never  once 
considered  how  I  should  get  it  off  the  land,  though  it  15 
was  really  more  easy  for  me  to  guide  it  over  the  sea, 
than  over  the  land  to  set  it  afloat  in  the  water. 

I  went  to  work  upon  this  boat  the  most  like  a  fool  that 
ever  man  did,  who  had  any  of  his  senses  awake.  I  pleased 
myself  with  the  design  without  determining  whether  I  20 
was  able  to  undertake  il^;  not  but  that  the  difficulty  of 
launching  my  boat  came  often  into  my  head,  but  I  put  a 
stop  to  my  own  inquiries  into  it  by  this  foolish  answer : 
Let  us  first  make  it ;  I  warrant  I  will  find  some  way  or 
other  to  get  it  along  when  it  is  done.  25 

This  was  a  most  preposterous  method ;  but  the  eager- 
ness of  my  fancy  prevailed,  and  to  work  I  went.    I  felled 


58 

a  cedar  tree,  and  I  question  much  whether  Solomon  ever 
had  such  a  one  for  the  building  of  the  temple  at  Jerusa- 
lem ;  it  was  five  feet  ten  inches  in  diameter  at  the  lower 
part  next  the  stump,  and  four  feet  eleven  inches  in  diam- 

5  eter  at  the  end  of  twenty-two  feet,  where  it  lessened  and 
then  parted  into  branches. 

It  was  not  without  infinite  labor  that  I  felled  this  tree ; 
I  was  twenty  days  hacking  and  hewing  at  the  bottom, 
and  fourteen  more  getting  the  branches  and  limbs  and 

10  the  vast,  spreading  head  of  it  cut  off ;  after  this  it  cost 
me  a  month  to  shape  it  to  something  like  the  bottom  of  a 
boat,  that  it  might  swim  upright  as  it  ought  to  do.  It 
cost  me  near  three  months  more  to  clear  the  inside  and 
work  it  out  so  as  to  make  an  exact  boat  of  it.    This  I  did, 

15  indeed,  without  fire,  by  mere  mallet  and  chisel,  and  by 
the  dint  of  hard  labor,  till  I  had  brought  it  to  be  a  very 
handsome  canoe,  big  enough  to  have  carried  six  and  twenty 
men,  and  consequently  big  enough  to  have  carried  me  and 
all  my  cargo. 

20  When  I  had  gone  through  this  work  I  was  extremely 
delighted  with  it.  The  boat  was*  really  much  bigger  than 
ever  I  saw  a  canoe  that  was  made  of  one  tree.  Many  a 
weary  stroke  it  had  cost,  you  may  be  sure,  and  there  re- 
mained nothing  but  to  get  it  into  the  water,  which,  had 

25  I  accomplished,  I  make  no  question  but  I  should  have  be- 
gun the  maddest  voyage,  and  the  most  unlikely  to  be  per- 
formed, that  ever  was  undertaken. 


59 


60 

But  all  my  devices  to  get  it  into  the  water  failed  me, 
though  they  cost  me  inexpressible  labor  too.  It  lay  about 
one  hundred  yards  from  the  water,  and  not  more ;  but  the 
first  inconvenience  was,  it  was  uphill  towards  the  creek. 
5  Well,  to  take  away  this  discouragement  I  resolved  to  dig 
into  the  surface  of  the  earth  and  so  make  a  declivity ; 
this  I  began,  and  it  cost  me  a  prodigious  deal  of  pains. 
When  this  was  worked  through,  and  this  difficulty  man- 
aged, it  was  still  much  the  same,  for  I  could  not  stir  the 

10  canoe.  Then  I  measured  the  distance  of  ground  and  re- 
solved to  cut  a  dock  or  canal  to  bring  the  water  up  to  the 
canoe,  seeing  I  could  not  bring  the  canoe  down  to  the 
water.  .  I  began  this  work,  but  when  I  came  to  enter  upon 
it  and  calculate  how  deep  it  was  to  be  dug,  how  broad, 

15  and  how  the  stuff  was  to  be  thrown  out,   I  found  that 

it  must  have  been  ten  or  twelve  years  before  I  could  have 

gone  through  with  it.    This  attempt,  though  with  great 

reluctance,  I  was  at  length  obliged  to  give  over  also. 

This  grieved  me  heartily ;  and  now  I  saw,  though  too 

20  late,  the  folly  of  beginning  a  work  before  we  count  the 
cost  and  before  we  judge  rightly  of  our  own  strength  to 
go  through  with  it. 

In  the  middle  of  this  work  I  finished  my  fourth  year 
in  this  place  and  kept  my  anniversary  with  the  same  de- 

25  votion  as  before.  I  had  gained,  however,  a  different 
knowledge,  and  I  entertained  different  notions  of  things. 
I  had  nothing  to  covet,  for  I  had  all  that  I  was  now 


61 

capable  of  enjoying.  If  I  pleased,  I  might  call  myself 
king  or  emperor  over  the  whole  country.  I  had  enough 
to  eat  and  supply  my  wants  and  what  was  the  rest  to  me  ? 

In  a  word,  I  found  that  all  the  good  things  of  this  world 
are  of  no  farther  good  to  us  than  for  our  use.  The  most  5 
covetous  miser  in  the  world  would  have  been  cured  of  the 
vice  of  covetousness  if  he  had  been  in  my  case,  for  I  pos- 
sessed infinitely  more  than  I  knew  what  to  do  with.  I 
had  a  parcel  of  money,  —  about  thirty-six  pounds  sterling. 
Alas  !  there  the  sorry,  useless  stuff  lay.  I  had  no  manner  10 
of  business  for  it,  and  I  often  thought  that  I  would  have 
given  a  handful  of  it  for  a  hand  mill  to  grind  my  corn ; 
nay,  I  would  have  given  it  all  for  sixpenny  worth  of  tur- 
nip and  carrot  seed  from  England,  or  for  a  handful  of 
peas  and  beans  and  a  bottle  of  ink.  As  it  was,  I  had  not  15 
the  least  advantage  by  it ;  but  there  it  lay  in  a  drawer 
and  grew  moldy  with  the  damp  of  the  cave  in  the  wet 
seasons.  And  if  I  had  had  the  drawer  full  of  diamonds, 
it  had  been  the  same  case ;  they  would  have  been  no 
manner  of  value  to  me  because  of  no  use.  20 

As  for  my  first  boat,  I  was  obliged  to  let  it  lie  where  it 
was  as  a  memorandum  to  teach  me  to  be  wiser  the  next 
time. 

were  doing  :  the  common  form  being  done  is  of  modern  origin.  — without 
tools  :  such  canoes  are  often  burned  out  instead  of  being  shaped  with  tools. 
—  preposterous  :   wholly  absurd.  —  give  over  :  give  up. 


62 
THE  POET'S  VISION 

John  Keats 

John  Keats  (1795-1821)  was  a  noted  English  poet.  Although  his 
life  was  short,  his  works  show  rare  genius.  The  following  lines  are  from 
"  I  stood  Tiptoe  upon  a  Little  Hill." 

Linger  awhile  upon  some  bending  planks 
5      That  lean  against  a  streamlet's  rushy  banks, 

And  watch  intently  Nature's  gentle  doings : 

They  will  be  found  softer  than  ring-dove's  cooings. 

How  silent  comes  the  water  round  that  bend ! 

Not  the  minutest  whisper  does  it  send 
10      To  the  o'erhanging  sallows  :  blades  of  grass 

Slowly  across  the  chequered  shadows  pass. 

Why,  you  might  read  two  sonnets  ere  they  reach 

To  where  the  hurrying  freshnesses  aye  preach 

A  natural  sermon  o'er  their  pebbly  beds, 
15      Where  swarms  of  minnows  show  their  little  heads, 

Staying  their  wavy  bodies  'gainst  the  streams, 

To  taste  the  luxury  of  sunny  beams 

Tempered  with  coolness.   .  .  . 

The  ripples  seem  right  glad  to  reach  those  cresses, 
20      And  cool  themselves  among  the  emerald  tresses ; 

The  while  they  cool  themselves,  they  freshness  give, 

And  moisture,  that  the  bowery  green  may  live. 

rushy:  fringed  with  rushes.  —  minutest:  faintest.  —  sallows:  willows. 
—  aye  :  always bowery :  shaded  like  a  bower. 


63 
THE  LOON 

Henry  D.  Thoreau 

Henry  D.  Thoreau  (1817-1862)  was  an  American  writer  whose  books 
reflect  the  freedom  of  life  which  he  enjoyed.  For  two  years  he  lived  as  a 
hermit  on  the  shores  of  Walden  Pond,  near  Concord,  Massachusetts,  and 
there  established  intimate  relations  with  the  birds  and  wild  creatures  about 
him.  "Fishes  swam  into  his  hand;  he  pulled  the  woodchuck  out  of  its  5 
hole  by  the  tail,  and  took  the  foxes  under  his  protection  from  the  hunters." 
Walden  is  the  record  of  his  life  at  this  time,  and  mingles  matters  of  fact 
with  personal  experience  and  philosophy. 

As  I  was  paddling  along  the  north  shore  one  very  calm 
October  afternoon,  having  looked  over  the  pond  in  vain  10 
for  a  loon,  suddenly  one,  sailing  out  from  the  shore  toward 
the  middle  a  few  rods  in  front  of  me,  set  up  his  wild  laugh 
and  betrayed  himself.  I  pursued  with  a  paddle  and  he 
dived,  but  when  he  came  up  I  was  nearer  than  before.  He 
dived  again,  but  I  miscalculated  the  direction  he  would  15 
take,  and  we  were  fifty  rods  apart  when  he  came  to  the 
surface  this  time,  for  I  had  helped  to  widen  the  inter- 
val ;  and  again  he  laughed  long  and  loud,  and  with  more 
reason  than  before. 

He  maneuvered  so  cunningly  that  I  could  not  get  within  20 
half  a  dozen  rods  of  him.    Each  time  when  he  came  to  the 
surface,  turning  his  head  this  way  and  that,  he  coolly  sur- 
veyed the  water  and  the  land,  and  apparently  chose  his 
course  so  that  he  might  come  up  where  there  was  the  widest 


64 

expanse  of  water  and  at  the  greatest  distance  from  the 
boat.  It  was  surprising  how  quickly  he  made  up  his  mind 
and  put  his  resolve  into  execution.  He  led  me  at  once  to 
the  widest  part  of  the  pond  and  could  not  be  driven  from 
5  it.  While  he  was  thinking  one  thing  in  his  brain  I  was 
endeavoring  to  divine  his  thought  in  mine.  It  was  a  pretty 
game,  played  on  the  smooth  surface  of  the  pond,  a  man 
against  a  loon. 

Suddenly  your  adversary's  checker  disappears  beneath 

10  the  board,  and  the  problem  is  to  place  yours  nearest  to 
where  his  will  appear  again.  Sometimes  the  loon  would 
come  up  unexpectedly  on  the  opposite  side  of  me,  having 
apparently  passed  directly  under  the  boat.  So  long-winded 
was  he,  and  so  unweariable,  that  when  he  had  swum  farthest 

15  he  would  immediately  plunge  again,  and  then  no  wit  could 
divine  where  in  the  deep  pond,  beneath  the  smooth  surface, 
he  might  be  speeding  his  way  like  a  fish,  for  he  had  time 
and  ability  to  visit  the  bottom  of  the  pond  in  its  deepest 
part.    How  surprised  must  the  fishes  be  to  see  this  ungainly 

20  visitor  from  another  sphere  speeding  his  way  amid  their 
schools !  Yet  he  appeared  to  know  his  course  as  surely 
under  water  as  on  the  surface,  and  swam  much  faster  there. 
Once  or  twice  I  saw  a  ripple  where  he  approached  the  sur- 
face, just  put  his  head  out  to  reconnoiter,  and  instantly 

25  dived  again.  I  found  that  it  was  as  well  for  me  to  rest  on 
my  oars  and  wait  his  reappearing  as  to  endeavor  to  calcu- 
late where  he  would  rise ;  for  again  and  again,  when  I  was 


65 

straining  my  eyes  over  the  surface  one  way,  I  would  sud- 
denly be  startled  by  his  unearthly  laugh  behind  me.  But 
why,  after  displaying  so  much  cunning,  did  he  invariably 
betray  himself  the  moment  he  came  up  by  that  loud  laugh? 
He  was,  indeed,  a  silly  loon,  I  thought.  5 

His  usual  note  was  this  demoniac  laughter,  but  occa- 
sionally, when  he  had  balked  me  most  successfully  and 
had  risen  a  long  way  off,  he  uttered  a  long-drawn  unearthly 
howl,  probably  more  like  that  of  a  wolf  than  any  bird  ; 
as  when  a  beast  puts  his  muzzle  to  the  ground  and  delib-  10 
erately  howls.  This  was  his  looning,  —  perhaps  the  wild- 
est sound  that  is  ever  heard  here,  making  the  woods  ring 
far  and  wide.  I  concluded  that  he  laughed  in  derision  of 
my  efforts,  confident  of  his  own  resources. 

Though  the  sky  was  by  this  time  overcast,  the  pond  15 
was  so  smooth  that  I  could  see  where  he  broke  the  surface 
when  I  did  not  hear  him.    His  white  breast,  the  stillness 
of  the  air,  and  the  smoothness  of  the  water  were  all  against 
him.    At  length,  having  come  up  fifty  rods  off,  he  uttered 
one  of  those  prolonged  howls,  as  if  calling  on  the  god  of  20 
loons  to  aid  him,  and  immediately  there  came  a  wind  from 
the  east  and  rippled  the  surface  and  filled  the  whole 
air  with  misty  rain,  and  I  was  impressed  as  if  it  were 
the  prayer  of  the  loon  answered,  and  his  god  was  angry 
with  me ;  and  so  I  left  him  disappearing  far  away  on  the  25 
tumultuous  surface.  From  Walden 

demo'niac  :  belonging  to  a  demon  or  evil  spirit. 


66 
A  DREAM  OF  THE  SOUTH  WIND 

Paul  Hamilton  Hayne 

Paul  Hamilton  Hayne  (1830-1886)  was  for  a  long  time  the  repre- 
sentative Southern  poet,  honored  and  beloved  throughout  the  land. 

Oh,  fresh,  how  fresh  and  fair 
Through  the  crystal  gulfs  of  air, 
5  The  fairy  South  Wind  floateth  on  her  subtle  wings  of 
balm ! 
And  the  green  earth  lapped  in  bliss, 
To  the  magic  of  her  kiss 
Seems  yearning  upward  fondly  through  the  golden-crested 
10  calm. 

From  the  distant  tropic  strand, 
Where  the  billows,  bright  and  bland, 
Go  creeping,  curling  round  the  palms  with  sweet,  faint 
undertime, 
is  From  its  fields  of  purpling  flowers 

Still  wet  with  fragrant  showers, 
The  happy  South  Wind  lingering  sweeps  the  royal  blooms 
of  June. 

All  heavenly  fancies  rise 
20  On  the  perfume  of  her  sighs, 

Which  steep  the  inmost  spirit  in  a  language  rare  and  fine, 
And  a  peace  more  pure  than  sleep's 


67 


Unto  dim,  half-conscious  deeps, 
Transports  me,  lulled  and  dreaming,  on  its  twilight  tides 
divine. 

Those  dreams  !  ah  me  !  the  splendor, 
So  mystical  and  tender,  5 

Wherewith  like  soft  heat-lightnings  they  gird  their  mean- 
ing round, 
And  those  waters  calling,  calling, 
With  a  nameless  charm,  enthralling, 
Like  the  ghost  of  music  melting  on  a  rainbow  spray  of  10 
sound. 

Alas  !  dim,  dim,  and  dimmer 
Grows  the  preternatural  glimmer 
Of  that  trance  the  South  Wind  brought  me  on  her  subtle 

wings  of  balm  ;  15 

For  behold  !  its  spirit  flieth, 
And  its  fairy  murmur  dieth, 
And  the  silence  closing  round  me  is  a  dull  and  soulless 
calm. 

subtle  :  not  easily  perceived.  —  gird  :  wrap  or  encircle.  —  preternatural : 


68 
THE  SNOW  IMAGE  — I 

Nathaniel  Hawthorne 

Nathaniel  Hawthorne,  one  of  the  most  distinguished  of  American 
writers,  was  born  in  Salem,  Massachusetts,  on  the  4th  of  July,  1804,  and 
died  in. Plymouth,  New  Hampshire,  in  1864.  His  early  life  was  a  lonely 
one,  and  his  books,  though  full  of  delicate  imagery,  often  have  a  strangely 
5  melancholy  tone.  The  following  lesson  is  abridged  from  one  of  his  fanci- 
ful tales. 

One  afternoon  of  a  cold  winter's  day,  when  the  sun 
shone  forth  with  chilly  brightness  after  a  long  storm, 
two  children  asked  leave  of  their  mother  to  run  out  and 

10  play  in  the  new-fallen  snow.  The  elder  child  was  a  little 
girl,  whom  her  parents  used  to  call  Violet.  Her  brother 
was  known  by  the  name  of  Peony,  on  account  of  the  rud- 
diness of  his  broad  and  round  little  phiz,  which  made 
everybody  think  of  sunshine  and  great  scarlet  flowers. 

15  The  father  of  these  two  children,  a  certain  Mr.  Lindsey, 
it  is  important  to  say,  was  an  excellent  man,  a  dealer  in 
hardware,  and  was  sturdily  accustomed  to  take  what  is 
called  the  common-sense  view  of  all  matters  that  came 
under  his  consideration.    The  mother's  character,  on  the 

20  other  hand,  had  a  strain  of  poetry  in  it  that  had  survived 
out  of  her  imaginative  youth. 

The  children  dwelt  in  a  city,  and  had  no  wider  play- 
place  than  a  little  garden  before  the  house,  divided  by  a 
white  fence  from  the  street,  and  with  a  pear  tree  and  two 


69 

or  three  plum  trees  overshadowing  it,  and  some  rosebushes 
just  in  front  of  the  parlor  windows.  The  trees  and  shrubs, 
however,  were  now  leafless,  and  their  twigs  were  enveloped 
in  the  light  snow. 

"Yes,  Violet,  —  yes,  my  little  Peony,"  said  their  kind   5 
mother,  "  you  may  go  out  and  play  in  the  new  snow." 

Accordingly  the  good  lady  bundled  up  her  darlings  in 
woolen  jackets  and  wadded  sacks,  and  put  comforters 
round  their  necks,  and  a  pair  of  striped  gaiters  on  each 
little  pair  of  legs,  and  worsted  mittens  on  their  hands,  and  10 
gave  them  a  kiss  apiece  by  way  of  a  spell  to  keep  away 
Jack  Frost.  Forth  sallied  the  two  children  with  a  hop, 
skip,  and  jump  that  carried  them  at  once  into  the  very 
heart  of  a  huge  snowdrift,  whence  Violet  emerged  like  a 
snow  bunting,  while  little  Peony  floundered  out  with  his  15 
round  face  in  full  bloom.  Then  what  a  merry  time  had 
they !  To  look  at  them  frolicking  in  the  wintry  garden, 
you  would  have  thought  that  the  dark  and  pitiless  storm 
had  been  sent  for  no  other  purpose  than  to»  provide  a 
new  plaything  for  them.  20 

At  last,  when  they  had  frosted  one  another  all  over  with 
handfuls  of  snow,  Violet  was  struck  with  a  new  idea. 

"  You  look  exactly  like  a  snow  image,  Peony,"  said  she, 
"  if  your  cheeks  were  not  so  red.    Let  us  make  an  image 
out  of  snow,  —  an  image  of  a  little  girl,  —  and  it  shall  be  25 
our  sister,  and  shall  run  about  and  play  with  us  all  winter 
long.    Won't  it  be  nice  ?  " 


70 

"  Oh,  yes ! "  cried  Peony,  as  plainly  as  he  could  speak, 
for  he  was  but  a  little  boy ;  "  that  will  be  nice !  And 
mamma  shall  see  it !  " 

"Yes,"  answered  Violet,  "mamma  shall  see  the  new 

5  little  girl.  But  she  must  not  make  her  come  into  the  warm 
parlor,  for  you  know  our  little  snow  sister  will  not  love 
the  warmth." 

And  forthwith  the  children  began  this  great  business  of 
making  a  snow  image  that  should  run  about ;  while  their 

10  mother,  who  was  sitting  at  the  window  and  overheard 
some  of  their  talk,  could  not  help  smiling  at  the  gravity 
with  which  they  set  about  it.  They  really  seemed  to 
imagine  that  there  would  be  no  difficulty  whatever  in 
creating  a  live  little  girl  out  of  the  snow. 

15  Violet  assumed  the  chief  direction  and  told  Peony  what 
to  do,  while  with  her  own  delicate  fingers  she  shaped  out 
all  the  nicer  parts  of  the  snow  figure.  It  seemed,  in  fact, 
not  so  much  to  be  made  by  the  children  as  to  grow  up 
under  their  hands  while  they  were  playing  and  prattling 

20  about  it.  Their  mother  was  quite  surprised  at  this,  and 
the  longer  she  looked  the  more  surprised  she  grew. 

"0  Violet,"  said  Peony,  in  his  bluff  tone,  —  but  a  very 
sweet  tone,  too,  —  as  he  came  floundering  through  the 
half -trodden  drifts,  "  how  beau-ti-ful  she  begins  to  look  !  " 

25  "Yes,"  said  Violet,  thoughtfully  and  quietly,  "our 
snow  sister  does  look  very  lovely.  I  did  not  quite  know, 
Peony,  that  we  could  make  such  a  sweet  little  girl  as  this." 


n 

The  mother,  as  she  listened,  thought  how  fit  and  de- 
lightful an  incident  it  would  be  if  fairies,  or,  still  better,  if 
angel  children  were  to  come  from  paradise  and  play  invis- 
ibly with  her  own  darlings,  and  help  them  to  make  their 
snow  image,  giving  it  the  features  of  celestial  babyhood !    5 

*•  My  little  girl  and  boy  deserve  such  playmates,  if 
mortal  children  ever  did,"  said  the  mother  to  herself; 
and  then  she  smiled  again  at  her  own  motherly  pride. 

Now,  for  a  few  moments,  there  was  a  busy  and  earnest 
but  indistinct  hum  of  the  two  children's  voices,  as  Violet  10 
and  Peony  wrought  together  with  one  happy  consent. 
Violet  still  seemed  to  be  the  guiding  spirit,  while  Peony 
acted  rather  as  a  laborer,  and  brought  her  the  snow  from 
far  and  near.  And  yet  the  little  urchin  evidently  had  a 
proper  understanding  of  the  matter,  too.  15 

"Peony,  Peony!"  cried  Violet, — for  her  brother  was 
again  at  the  other  side  of  the  garden,  —  "  bring  me  those 
light  wreaths  of  snow  that  have  rested  on  the  lower 
branches  of  the  pear  tree.  You  can  clamber  on  the  snow- 
drift, Peony,  and  reach  them  easily.  I  must  have  them  to  20 
make  some  ringlets  for  our  snow  sister's  head." 

"Here  they  are,  Violet,"  answered  the  little  boy. 
"  Take  care  you  do  not  break  them.  Well  done !  well 
done  !  how  pretty !  " 

"  Is  she  not  lovely  ? "   said  Violet,  in  a  satisfied  tone.  25 
"  And  now  we  must  have  some  little  shining  bits  of  ice  to 
make  the  brightness  of  her  eyes.   She  is  not  finished  yet. 


72 


Mamma  will  see  how  very  beautiful  she  is ;  but  papa  will 


say, 


Nonseuse  !    Come  in  out  of  the  cold  ! 


"  Let  us  call  mamma  to  look  out,"  said  Peony ;    and 

then  he  shouted  lustily,  "  Mamma  !  mamma ! !  mamma  ! ! ! 

5  look  out  and  see  what  a  nice  little  girl  we  are  making ! " 


7o 

The  mother  put  down  her  work  for  an  instant  and 
looked  out  of  the  window.  Through  all  the  bright,  blind- 
ing dazzle  of  the  sun  and  the  new  snow  she  beheld  a 
small  white  figure  in  the  garden  that  seemed  to  have  a 
wonderful  deal  of  human  likeness  about  it.  And  she  saw  5 
Violet  and  Peony  —  indeed,  she  looked  more  at  them  than 
at  the  image  —  still  at  work,  Peony  bringing  fresh  snow, 
and  Violet  applying  it  to  the  figure  as  scientifically  as  a 
sculptor  adds  clay  to  his  model.  Indistinctly  as  she  dis- 
cerned the  snow  child,  the  mother  thought  to  herself  that  10 
never  before  was  there  a  snow  figure  so  cunningly  made, 
nor  ever  such  a  dear  little  girl  and  boy  to  make  it. 

"  They  do  everything  better  than  other  children/'  said 
she,  very  complacently ;  "  no  wonder  they  make  better 
snow  images."  15 

She  sat  down  again  to  her  work,  and  made  as  much 
haste  with  it  as  possible,  because  twilight  would  soon 
come.  The  children,  likewise,  kept  busily  at  work  in  the 
garden,  and  still  the  mother  listened,  whenever  she  could 
catch  a  word.  She  was  amused  to  observe  how  their  little  20 
imaginations  had  got  mixed  up  with  what  they  "were 
doing,  and  carried  away  by  it.  They  seemed  positively  to 
think  that  the  snow  child  would  run  about  and  play  with 
them. 

"  What  a  nice  playmate  she  will  be  for  us  all  winter  25 
long !  "  said  Violet.    "  I  hope  papa  will  not  be  afraid  of  her 
giving  us  a  cold.     Shan't  you  love  her  dearly,  Peony  ?  " 


74 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  cried  Peony ;  "  and  I  will  hug  her,  and  she 
shall  sit  down  close  by  me,  and  drink  some  of  my  warm 
milk." 

u  Oh,  no,  Peony  !  "  answered  Violet,  with  grave  wisdom; 
5  "  that  will  not  do  at  all.    Warm  milk  will  not  be  whole- 
some for  our  little  snow  sister.    Little  snow  people,  like 
her,  eat  nothing  but  icicles.    No,  no,  Peony ;  we  must  not 
give  her  anything  warm  to  drink." 

There  was  a  minute  or  two  of  silence,  for  Peony,  whose 
10  short  legs  were  never  weary,  had  gone  on  a  pilgrimage 
again  to  the  other  side  of  the  garden.    All  of  a  sudden 
Violet  cried  out  loudly  and  joyfully : 

"  Look  here,  Peony !  Come  quickly !  A  light  has  been 
shining  on  her  cheek  out  of  that  rose-colored  cloud,  and 
15  the  color  does  not  go  away  !  Is  not  that  beautiful !  " 

"  Yes,  it  is  beau-ti-ful !  "  answered  Peony,  pronouncing 
the  three  syllables  with  deliberate  accuracy.  "  0  Violet, 
only  look  at  her  hair !    It  is  all  like  gold  !  " 

"  Oh,  certainly,"  said  Violet,  with  tranquillity,  as  if  it 
20  were  very  much  a  matter  of  course ;    u  that  color,  you 
know,  comes  from  the  golden  clouds  that  we  see  up  there 
in  the  sky.    She  is  almost  finished  now." 

Just  then  there  came  a  breeze  of  the  pure  west  wind 
sweeping  through  the  garden  and  rattling  the  windows. 
25  It  sounded  so  wintry  cold  that  the  mother  was  about  to 
tap  on  the  window  pane  with  her  thimbled  finger  to  sum- 
mon the  two  children  in,  when  they  both  cried  out  to  her. 


The  tone  was  not  a  tone  of  surprise,  although  they  were 
evidently  a  good  deal  excited ;  it  appeared  rather  as  if 
they  were  very  much  rejoiced  at  some  event  that  had  now 
happened,  but  which  they  had  been  looking  for,  and  had 
reckoned  upon  all  along.  5 

"  Mamma  !  mamma !    we  have  finished  our  little  snow 
sister,  and  she  is  running  about  the  garden  with  us !  " 

"  What  imaginative    little   beings  my  children  are ! " 
thought  the  mother.    "And  it  is  strange,  too,  that  they 
make  me  almost  as  much  a  child  as  they  themselves  are.  10 
I  can  hardly  help  believing,  now,  that  the  snow  image  has 
really  come  to  life." 

"Dear  mamma,"  cried  Violet,  "pray  look  out  and  see 
what  a  sweet  playmate  we  have !  " 

THE  SNOW  IMAGE  — II 

The  sun  was  now  gone  out  of  the  sky,  and  there  was  16 
not  the  slightest  gleam  or  dazzle,  either  on  the  window  or 
on  the  snow,  so  that  the  good  lady  could  look  all  over 
the  garden,  and  see  everything  and  everybody  in  it.  And 
what  do  you  think  she  saw  there  ?  Violet  and  Peony,  of 
course,  her  own  two  darling  children.  Ah,  but  whom  or  20 
what  did  she  see  besides  ?  Why,  if  you  will  believe  me, 
there  was  a  small  figure  of  a  girl,  dressed  all  in  white,  with 
rose-tinged  cheeks  and  ringlets  of  golden  hue,  playing  about 
the  garden  with  the  two  children !    The  mother  thought 


76 

that  it  must  certainly  be  the  daughter  of  one  of  the 
neighbors,  and  that,  seeing  Violet  and  Peony  in  the  gar- 
den, the  child  had  run  across  the  street  to  play  with  them. 
So  this  kind  lady  went  to  the  door,  intending  to  invite 
5  the  little  runaway  to  come  in. 

But,  after  opening  the  door,  she  stood  an  instant  on  the 
threshold,  hesitating  whether  she  ought  to  ask  the  child 
to  come  in,  or  whether  she  should  even  speak  to  her. 
Indeed j  she  almost  doubted  whether  it  were  a  real  child 

10  after  all,  or  only  a  light  wreath  of  the  new-fallen  snow, 
blown  hither  aud  thither  about  the  garden  by  the  intensely 
cold  west  wind.  There  was  certainly  something  very 
singular  in  the  aspect  of  the  little  stranger.  Among  all 
the  children  of  the  neighborhood,  the  lady  could  remem- 

15  ber  no  such  face,  with  its  pure  white,  and  delicate  rose 
color,  and  the  golden  ringlets  tossing  about  the  forehead 
and  cheeks.  And  as  for  her  dress,  it  was  such  as  no 
reasonable  woman  would  put  upon  a  little  girl  when 
sending  her  out  to  play  in  the  depth  of  winter.    It  made 

20  this  kind  and  careful  mother  shiver  only  to  look  at  those 
small  feet,  with  nothing  in  the  world  on  them,  except  a 
very  thin  pair  of  white  slippers.  Nevertheless,  airily  as 
she  was  clad,  the  child  seemed  to  feel  not  the  slightest  in- 
convenience from  the  cold,  but  danced  so  lightly  over  the 

25  snow  that  the  tips  of  her  toes  left  hardly  a  print  in  its 
surface,  while  Violet  could  but  just  keep  pace  with  her, 
and  Peony's  short  legs  compelled  him  to  lag  behind. 


Once,  in  the  course  of  their  play,  the  strange  child 
placed  herself  between  Violet  and  Peony,  and,  taking  a 
hand  of  each,  skipped  merrily  forward,  and  they  along 
with  her.  Almost  immediately,  however,  Peony  pulled 
away  his  little  fist  and  began  to  rub  it  as  if  the  fingers  5 
were  tingling  with  cold,  while  Violet  also  released  her- 
self, gravely  remarking  that  it  was  better  not  to  take 
hold  of  hands.  The  white-robed  damsel  said  not  a  word, 
but  danced  about,  just  as  merrily  as  before.  If  Violet  and 
Peony  did  not  choose  to  play  with  her,  she  could  make  10 
just  as  good  a  playmate  of  the  brisk  and  cold^west  wind, 
which  kept  blowing  her  about  the  garden.  All  this  while 
the  mother  stood  on  the  threshold,  wondering  how  a  little 
girl  could  look  so  much  like  a  flying  snowdrift,  or  how  a 
snowdrift  could  look  so  very  like  a  little  girl.  15 

She  called  Violet  and  whispered  to  her.  "  Violet,  my 
darling,  what  is  this  child's  name  ? "  asked  she.  "  Does 
she  live  near  us  ?  " 

"  Why,  dearest  mamma,"  answered  Violet,  laughing  to 
think  that  her  mother  did  not  comprehend  so  very  plain  20 
an  affair,  "this  is  our  little  snow  sister  whom  we  have 
just  been  making  !  " 

"  Yes,  dear  mamma,"  cried  Peony,  running  to  his  mother 
and  looking  up  simply  into  her  face,  "this  is  our  snow 
image  !    Is  it  not  a  nice  little  child  ?  "  25 

At  this  instant  a  flock  of  snow  birds  came  flitting 
through    the    air.     As   was   very   natural,   they   avoided 


78 

Violet  and  Peony,  but  —  and  this  looked  strange  —  they 
flew  at  once  to  the  white-robed  child,  fluttered  eagerly 
about  her  head,  alighted  on  her  shoulders,  and  seemed  to 
claim  her  as  an  old  acquaintance.  She,  on  her  part,  was 
5  evidently  as  glad  to  see  these  little  birds,  old  Winter's 
grandchildren,  as  they  were  to  see  her,  and  welcomed 
them  by  holding  out  both  her  hands.  Hereupon  they 
each  and  all  tried  to  alight  on  her  two  palms  and  ten 
small  fingers  and  thumbs,  crowding  one  another  off,  with 

10  an  immense  fluttering  of  their  tiny  wings.  One  dear  little 
bird  nestled  tenderly  in  her  bosom;  another  put  its  bill 
to  her  lips.  They  were  as  joyous  all  the  while  and  seemed 
as  much  in  their  element  as  you  may  have  seen  them 
when  sporting  with  a  snowstorm. 

15  Violet  and  Peony  stood  laughing  at  this  pretty  sight, 
for  they  enjoyed  the  merry  time  which  their  new  playmate 
was  having  with  these  small-winged  visitants  almost  as 
much  as  if  they  themselves  took  part  in  it. 

"Violet,"  said  her  mother,  greatly  perplexed,  "tell  me 

20  the  truth,  without  any  jest.    Who  is  this  little  girl  ?  " 

"My  darling  mamma,"  answered  Violet,  looking  seri- 
ously into  her  mother's  face,  and  apparently  surprised  that 
she  should  need  any  further  explanation,  "I  have  told 
you  truly  who  she  is.    It  is  our  little  snow  image,  which 

25  Peony  and  I  have  been  making." 

"  Yes,  mamma,"  asseverated  Peony,  with  much  gravity. 
"  But,  mamma,  her  hand  is,  oh,  so  very  cold  !  " 


79 

While  she  still  hesitated  what  to  think  and  what  to  do, 
the  street  gate  was  thrown  open,  and  the  father  of  Violet 
and  Peony  appeared,  wrapped  in  a  heavy  coat,  with  a  fur 
cap  drawn  down  over  his  ears,  and  the  thickest  of  gloves 
upon  his  hands.  His  eyes  brightened  at  the  sight  of  his  5 
wife  and  children,  although  he  could  not  help  uttering  a 
word  or  two  of  surprise  at  finding  the  whole  family  in 
the  open  air  on  so  bleak  a  day,  and  after  sunset  too.  He 
soon  perceived  the  little  white  stranger  sporting  to  and 
fro  in  the  garden.  10 

"Pray,  what  little  girl  may  that  be?"  inquired  this 
very  sensible  man.  "  Surely  her  mother  must  be  crazy  to 
let  her  go  out  in  such  bitter  weather  as  it  has  been  to-day 
with  only  that  flimsy  white  gown  and  those  thin  slippers  !  " 

"My  dear  husband,"  said  his  wife,  "I  know  no  more  15 
about  the  little  thing  than  you  do.  Some  neighbor's  child, 
I  suppose.  Our  Violet  and  Peony,"  she  added,  laughing 
at  herself  for  repeating  so  absurd  a  story,  "  insist  that  she 
is  nothing  but  a  snow  image,  which  they  have  been  busy 
about  in  the  garden  almost  all  the  afternoon."  20 

As  she  said  this,  the  mother  glanced  her  eyes  toward 
the  spot  where  the  children's  snow  image  had  been  made. 
What  was  her  surprise  on  perceiving  that  there  was  not 
the  slightest  trace  of  so  much  labor !  —  no  image  at  all ! 
no  piled  up  heap  of  snow !  —  nothing  whatever,  save  the  25 
prints  of  little  footsteps  around  a  vacant  space ! 

"  This  is  very  strange  !  "  said  she. 


80 

"  What  is  strange,  dear  mother  ?  "  asked  Violet.  "  Dear 
father,  do  not  you  see  how  it  is  ?  This  is  our  snow  image, 
which  Peony  and  I  have  made  because  we  wanted  another 
playmate." 

5  "  Nonsense,  children  !  "  cried  their  good,  honest  father. 
"  Do  not  tell  me  of  making  live  figures  out  of  snow. 
Come !  This  little  stranger  must  not  stay  out  in  the  bleak 
air  a  moment  longer.  We  will  bring  her  in  and  give  her 
a  supper  of  warm  bread  and  milk,  and  make  her  as  com- 

10  fortable  as  we  can." 

So  saying,  this  kind-hearted  man  was  going  toward  the 
little  white  damsel,  with  the  best  intentions  in  the  world. 
But  Violet  and  Peony,  each  seizing  their  father  by  the 
hand,  earnestly  besought  him  not  to  make  her  come  in. 

15  "Dear  father,"  cried  Violet,  putting  herself  before  him, 
"  it  is  true  what  I  have  been  telling  you.  This  is  our  little 
snow  girl.    Do  not  make  her  come  into  the  hot  room." 

u  Yes,  father,"  shouted  Peony,  stamping  his  little  foot, 
so  mightily  was  he  in  earnest ;   "  she  will  not  love  the 

20  hot  fire  !  " 

"Nonsense,  children;  nonsense,  nonsense!"  cried  the 
father,  half  vexed,  half  laughing  at  what  he  considered 
their  foolish  obstinacy.  "  Run  into  the  house  this  mo- 
ment !    It  is  too  late  to  play  any  longer,  now.    I  must 

25  take  care  of  this  little  girl  immediately." 

"Husband!  dear  husband!"  said  his  wife  in  a  low 
voice,  —  for  she  had  been  looking  narrowly  at  the  snow 


81 

child  and  was  more  perplexed  than  ever,  —  "there  is 
something  very  singular  in  all  this.  You  will  think  me 
foolish,  —  but  —  but  —  may  it  not  be  that  some  invisible 
angel  has  been  attracted  by  the  simplicity  and  good  faith 
with  which  our  children  set  about  their  undertaking?  5 
May  he  not  have  spent  an  hour  of  his  immortality  in 
playing  with  those  dear  little  souls?  And  so  the  result  is 
what  we  call  a  miracle.  No,  no !  Do  not  laugh  at  me.  I 
see  what  a  foolish  thought  it  is." 

"My  dear  wife,"  replied  the  husband,  laughing  heartily,  ior 
"you  are  as  much  a  child  as  Violet  and  Peony." 

But  now  kind  Mr.  Lindsey  had  entered  the  garden, 
breaking  away  from  his  two  children,  who  still  sent  their 
shrill  voices  after  him.  The  little  white  damsel  fled  back- 
ward, shaking  her  head  as  if  to  say,  "  Pray,  do  not  touch  15 
me!"  and  roguishly,  as  it  appeared,  leading  him  through 
the  deepest  of  the  snow.  Once  the  good  man  stumbled, 
and  floundered  down  upon  his  face,  so  that,  gathering  him- 
self up  again,  with  the  snow  sticking  to  his  rough  coat, 
he  looked  as  white  and  wintry  as  a  snow  image  of  the  20 
largest  size.  Some  of  the  neighbors,  meanwhile,  seeing 
him  from  their  windows,  wondered  what  could  possess  poor 
Mr.  Lindsey  to  be  running  about  his  garden  in  pursuit  of 
a  snowdrift,  which  the  west  wind  was  driving  hither  and 
thither.  At  length,  after  a  vast  deal  of  trouble,  he  chased  25 
the  little  stranger  into  a  corner,  where  she  could  not  pos- 
sibly escape  him. 


82 

"Come,  you  odd  little  thing,"  lie  cried,  seizing  her  by 
the  hand,  u  I  have  caught  you  at  last,  and  will  make  you 
comfortable  in  spite  of  yourself.  We  will  put  a  warm  pair 
of  stockings  on  your  frozen  little  feet,  and  you  shall  have 

5  a  good  thick  shawl  to  wrap  yourself  in.  Your  poor  white 
nose,  I  am  afraid,  is  actually  frost-bitten,  but  we  will 
make  it  all  right.    Come  along  in." 

And  so  this  very  well-meaning  gentleman  took  the 
snow  child  by  the  hand  and  led  her  towards  the  house. 

10  She  followed  him,  drooping  and  reluctant.  As  he  led  her 
up  the  steps  to  the  door,  Violet  and  Peony  looked  into  his 
face,  —  their  eyes  full  of  tears,  which  froze  before  they 
could  run  down  their  cheeks,  —  and  again  entreated  him 
not  to  bring  their  snow  image  into  the  house. 

15  "  Not  bring  her  in  !  "  exclaimed  the  kind-hearted  man. 
"  Why,  you  are  crazy,  my  little  Violet !  —  quite  crazy,  my 
small  Peony !  She  is  so  cold  already  that  her  hand  has 
almost  frozen  mine,  in  spite  of  my  thick  gloves.  Would 
you  have  her  freeze  to  death  ?  " 

20  His  wife,  as  he  came  up  the  steps,  had  been  taking 
another  long,  earnest  look  at  the  little  stranger. 

"  After  all,"  said  the  mother,  recurring  to  her  idea  that 
the  angels  would  be  as  much  delighted  to  play  with  Violet 
and  Peony  as  she  herself  was,  "she  does  look  strangely 

25  like  a  snow  image  !    I  do  believe  she  is  made  of  snow !  " 
A  puff  of  the  west  wind  blew  against  the  snow  child, 
and  again  she  sparkled  like  a  star. 


83 

"Snow!"  repeated  good  Mr.  Lindsey,  drawing  the  re- 
luctant guest  over  his  hospitable  threshold.  "  No  wonder 
she  looks  like  snow.  She  is  half  frozen,  poor  little  thing ! 
But  a  good  fire  will  put  everything  to  rights." 

Sad,  sad  and  drooping,  looked  the  little  white  maiden  5 
as  she  stood  on  the  hearth  rug.  Once  she  threw  a  glance 
wistfully  toward  the  windows,  and  caught  a  glimpse  of 
the  snow-covered  roofs,  and  the  stars  glimmering  frostily, 
and  all  the  delicious  intensity  of  the  cold  night.  The  bleak 
wind  rattled  the  window  panes  as  if  it  were  summoning  10 
her  to  come  forth.  And  there  stood  the  snow  child,  droop- 
ing before  the  hot  fire !  But  the  common-sensible  man 
saw  nothing  amiss. 

"  Come,  wife,"  said  he,  "  let  her  have  a  pair  of  thick 
stockings  and  a  woolen  shawl  or  blanket  directly;  and  15 
tell  Dora  to  give  her  some  warm  supper.   I  will  go  around 
among  the  neighbors  and  find  out  where  she  belongs." 

The  mother,  meanwhile,  had  gone  in  search  of  the 
shawl  and  stockings.  Without  heeding  his  two  children, 
who  still  kept  murmuring  that  their  little  snow  sister  did  20 
not  love  the  warmth,  good  Mr.  Lindsey  took  his  departure. 
He  had  barely  reached  the  street  gate,  when  he  was  recalled 
by  the  screams  of  Violet  and  Peony,  and  the  rapping  of  a 
thimbled  finger  against  the  window. 

"  Husband  !    husband  !  "    cried   his   wife,  showing   her  25 
horror-stricken  face  through  the  windowpanes ;  "  there  is 
no  need  of  going  for  the  child's  parents ! " 


84 

•  "  We  told  you  so,  father  !  "  screamed  Violet  and  Peony, 
as  he  reentered  the  parlor.  "  Yon  would  bring  her  in ; 
and  now  our  poor  —  dear  —  beau-ti-ful  little  snow  sister 
is  thawed !  " 
5  And  their  own  sweet  little  faces  were  already  dissolved 
in  tears,  so  that  their  father,  seeing  what  strange  things 
occasionally  happen  in  this  everyday  world,  felt  not  a  little 
anxious  lest  his  children  might  be  going  to  thaw  too !  In 
the  utmost  perplexity  he  demanded  an  explanation  of  his 

10  wife.  She  could  only  reply  that,  being  summoned  to  the 
parlor  by  the  cries  of  Violet  and  Peony,  she  found  no 
trace  of  the  little  white  maiden,  unless  it  were  the  re- 
mains of  a  heap  of  snow,  which,  while  she  was  gazing  at 
it,  melted  quite  away  upon  the  hearth  rug. 

15  But,  after  all,  there  is  no  teaching  anything  to  wise 
men  of  good  Mr.  Lindsey's  stamp.  They  know  everything, 
—  oh,  to  be  sure  !  —  everything  that  has  been,  and  every- 

.   thing  that  is,  and  everything  that,  by  any  future  possibil- 
ity, can  be. 

20  "  Wife,"  said  Mr.  Lindsey,  after  a  fit  of  silence,  "  see 
what  a  quantity  of  snow  the  children  have  brought  in  on 
their  feet !  Pray  tell  Dora  to  bring  some  towels  and  sop 
it  up !  " 

Pe'ony :  the  name  of  a  large,  bright-colored  flower.  —  phiz  (a  contrac- 
tion of  physiognomy):  face. —  spell:  charm.  —  snow  bunting  :  a  kind  of 
snow  bird.    It  is  chiefly  white  varied  with  black  or  brown. 


85 


THE  ROBIN 


Sidney  Lanier 

SIDNEY  Lanier  (1842-1881)  was  a  gifted  Southern  poet.  His  work, 
though  sometimes  unconventional  in  form,  was  full  of  richness  and  color. 
In  musical  quality  his  verse  has  rarely  been  surpassed. 

The  robin  laughed  in  the  orange  tree : 
"  Ho,  windy  North,  a  fig  for  thee ! 
While  breasts  are  red  and  wings  are  bold 
And  green  trees  wave  us  globes  of  gold, 

Time's  scythe  shall  reap  but  bliss  for  me, 

Sunlight,  song,  and  the  orange  tree. 

"  I  '11  south  with  the  sun,  and  keep  my  clime  ; 
My  wing  is  king  of  the  summer  time ; 
My  breast  to  the  sun  his  torch  shall  hold ; 
And  I  '11  call  down  through  the  green  and  gold, 

Time,  take  thy  scythe,  reap  bliss  for  me, 

Bestir  thee  wider  the  orange  tree!" 

a  fig  for  thee  :  the  value  of  a  fig,  —  practically  nothing.  An  expression 
used  to  express  contempt. — south:  go  south. — to  the  sun  his  torch  shall 
hold  ;  shall  rekindle  its  fiery  color  from  the  sun.  —  bestir  thee  :  stir  thyself. 


10 


16 


86 
GOVERNOR  MANCO  AND  THE  SOLDIER  — I 

Washington  Irving 

Washington  Irving  (1783-1859)  was  the  first  American  man  of  let- 
ters to  win  the  attention  of  European  readers.    He  lived  for  many  years 
abroad,  but  his  ambition  was  always  to  return  to  his  native  land.    In  his 
Dutch  cottage  on  the  Hudson  he  spent  the  latter  part  of  his  life,  happy  in 
5  his  work  and  in  the  companionship  of  his  friends. 

While  Governor  Manco  kept  up  a  show  of  military  state 
in  the  Alhambra,  he  became  nettled  at  the  reproaches  con- 
tinually cast  upon  his  fortress  of  being  the  nestling  place 
of  rogues.    On  a  sudden  the  old  potentate  determined  on 

10  reform,  and,  settling  vigorously  at  work,  ejected  whole 
nests  of  vagabonds  out  of  the  fortress  and  the  gypsy  caves 
with  which  the  surrounding  hills  are  honeycombed.  He 
sent  out  soldiers,  also,  to  patrol  the  avenues  and  footpaths, 

.    with  orders  to  take  up  all  suspicious  persons. 

15  One  bright  summer  morning  a  patrol,  consisting  of  a 
testy  old  corporal,  a  trumpeter,  and  two  privates,  was 
seated  under  the  garden  wall,  when  they  heard  the  tramp 
of  a  horse  and  a  voice  singing,  in  rough  though  not  un- 
musical tones,  an  old  Castilian  campaigning  song. 

20  Presently  they  beheld  a  sturdy,  sunburnt  fellow,  clad 
in  the  ragged  garb  of  a  foot  soldier,  leading  a  powerful 
Arabian  horse. 

Astonished  at  the  sight  of  a  strange  soldier,  the  corporal 
stepped  forth  and  challenged  him. 


87 

"  Who  goes  there  ?  " 

"  A  friend." 

"  Who  and  what  are  you  ?  " 

"A  poor  soldier  just  from  the  wars,  with  a  cracked 
crown  and  an  empty  purse  for  a  reward."  5 

By  this  time  they  were  enabled  to  view  him  more  nar- 
rowly. He  had  a  black  patch  across  his  forehead,  and  a 
grizzled  beard,  while  a  slight  squint  threw  into  his  coun- 
tenance an  occasional  gleam  of  roguish  good  humor. 

Having  answered  the  questions  of  the  patrol,  the  soldier  10 
seemed  to  consider  himself   entitled  to  make  others  in 
return.    "  May  I  ask,"  said  he,  "  what  that  city  is  which 
I  see  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  ?  " 

"  What  city  ?  "  cried  the  trumpeter.    "  Come,  that  's  too 
bad.    Here 's  a  fellow  lurking  about  the  mountain  of  the  15 
sun,  and  demands  the  name  of  the  great  city  of  Granada  !  " 

"  Granada !  Can  it  be  possible  ?  " 

"And  perhaps,"  rejoined  the  trumpeter,  "you  have  no 
idea  that  yonder  are  the  towers  of  the  Alhambra." 

"  If  this  indeed  be  the  Alhambra,"  replied  the  stranger,  20 
"  I  have  some  strange  matters  to  reveal  to  the  governor." 

"  You  will  have  an  opportunity,"  replied  the  corporal, 
"for  we  mean  to  take  you  before  him."  By  this  time  the 
trumpeter  had  seized  the  bridle  of  the  steed  and  the  two 
privates  had  each  secured  an  arm  of  the  soldier ;  the  25 
corporal  putting  himself  in  front,  gave  the  word, "  Forward 
—  march  !  "  and  away  they  marched  for  the  Alhambra. 


88 

The  sight  of  a  ragged  soldier  and  a  fine  Arabian  horse, 
brought  in  captive  by  the  patrol,  attracted  the  attention 
of  all  the  idlers  of  the  fortress,  and  of  those  gossip  groups 
that  generally  assemble  about  wells  and  fountains  at  early 
5  dawn.  The  wheel  of  the  cistern  paused  in  its  rotations, 
and  the  slipshod  servant  maid  stood  gaping,  with  pitcher 
in  hand,  as  the  corporal  passed  by  with  his  prize.  A  mot- 
ley train  gradually  gathered  in  the  rear  of  the  escort. 
Governor  Manco  was  seated  in  one  of  the  inner  halls  of 

10  the  Alhambra,  taking  his  morning's  cup  of  chocolate  in 
company  with  his  confessor  from  the  neighboring  convent. 
A  demure,  dark-eyed  damsel  of  Malaga,  the  daughter  of 
his  housekeeper,  was  attending  upon  him. 

When  word  was  brought  that  a  suspicious  stranger  had 

15  been  taken  lurking  about  the  fortress,  and  was  actually 
in  the  outer  court  waiting  the  pleasure  of  his  Excellency, 
the  pride  and  stateliness  of  office  swelled  the  bosom  of  the 
governor.  Giving  back  his  chocolate  cup  into  the  hands 
of  the  damsel,  he  called  for  his  basket-hilted  sword,  girded 

20  it  to  his  side,  twirled  up  his  mustaches,  took  his  seat  in  a 
large  high-backed  chair,  assumed  a  bitter  and  forbidding 
aspect,  and  ordered  the  prisoner  into  his  presence.  The 
soldier  was  brought  in,  still  closely  pinioned  by  his  cap- 
tors and  guarded  by  the  corporal.    He  maintained,  how- 

25  ever,  a  resolute,  self-confident  air,  and  returned  the  sharp, 
scrutinizing  look  of  the  governor  with  an  easy  squint, 
which  by  no  means  pleased  the  punctilious  old  potentate. 


89 

••  Well,  culprit/'  said  the  governor,  after  he  had  re- 
garded him  for  a  moment  in  silence,  "  what  have  you  to 
say  for  yourself  ?    Who  are  you  ?  " 

"  A  soldier  from  the  wars,  who  has  brought  away  noth- 
ing but  scars  and  bruises."  5 

"A  soldier!  Humph!  A  foot  soldier  by  your  garb.  I 
understand  you  have  a  fine  Arabian  horse.  I  presume 
you  brought  him,  too,  from  the  wars,  besides  your  scars 
and  bruises." 

"  May  it  please  your  Excellency,  I  have  something  10 
strange  to  tell  about  that  horse :  something,  too,  that 
concerns  the  security  of  this  fortress,  —  indeed,  of  all  Gra- 
nada. But  it  is  a  matter  to  be  imparted  only  to  your  pri- 
vate ear,  or  in  the  presence  of  such  only  as  are  in  your 
confidence."  15 

The  governor  considered  for  a  moment  and  then  directed 
the  corporal  and  his  men  to  withdraw,  but  to  post  them- 
selves outside  the  door  and  be  ready  at  a  call.  When 
this  had  been  done,  the  soldier  commenced  his  story.  He 
was  a  fluent,  smooth-tongued  varlet,  and  had  a  command  20 
of  language  above  his  apparent  rank.  "  May  it  please 
your  Excellency,"  said  he,  "  I  am,  as  I  before  observed,  a 
soldier,  and  have  seen  some  hard  service ;  but  my  term  of 
enlistment  being  expired,  I  was  discharged  not  long  since, 
and  set  out  on  foot  for  my  native  village  in  Andalusia.  25 
Yesterday  evening  the  sun  went  down  as  I  was  traversing 
a  great  dry  plain  of  Old  Castile." 


90 

"  Hold ! "  cried  the  governor.    "  What  is  this  you  say  ? 

.     Old  Castile  is  some  two  or  three  hundred  miles  from  this." 

"  Even  so/'  replied  the  soldier,  coolly.    u  I  told  your 

Excellency  I  had  some  strange  things  to  relate ;   but  not 

5  more  strange  than  true,  as  your  Excellency  will  find,  if 

you  will  deign  me  a  patient  hearing." 

"  Proceed,  culprit,"  said  the  governor,  twirling  up  his 
mustaches. 

"  As  the  sun  went  down,"  continued  the  soldier,  "I  cast 
10  my  eyes  about  in  search  of  quarters  for  the  night,  but  as 
far  as  my  sight  could  reach,  there  were  no  signs  of  habi- 
tation. I  saw  that  I  should  have  to  make  my  bed  on  the 
naked  plain,  with  my  knapsack  for  a  pillow ;  but  your 
Excellency  is  an  old  soldier,  and  knows  that  to  one  who 
15  has  been  in  the  wars  such  a  night's  lodging  is  no  great 
hardship." 

The  governor  nodded  assent,  as  he  drew  his  pocket 
handkerchief  out  of  the  basket  hilt  to  drive  away  a  fly 
that  buzzed  about  his  nose. 
20  "  Well,  to  make  a  long  story  short,"  continued  the  sol- 
dier, "  I  trudged  forward  for  several  miles  until  I  came  to 
a  bridge  over  a  deep  ravine,  through  which  ran  a  little 
thread  of  water  almost  dried  up  by  the  summer  heat.  At 
one  end  of  the  bridge  was  a  Moorish  tower,  with  the  upper 
25  end  all  in  ruins,  but  with  a  vault  in  the  foundation  quite 
entire.  Here,  thought  I,  is  a  good  place  to  make  a  halt ; 
so  I  went  down  to  the  stream  and  took  a  hearty  drink, 


91 


92 

for  the  water  was  pure  and  sweet  and  I  was  parched  with 
thirst ;  then,  opening  my  wallet,  I  took  out  an  onion  and 
a  few  crusts  which  were  all  my  provisions,  and,  seating 
myself  on  a  stone  on  the  margin  of  the  stream,  began  to 
5  make  my  supper,  intending  afterwards  to  quarter  myself 
for  the  night  in  the  vault  of  the  tower ;  and  capital  quar- 
ters they  would  have  been  for  a  campaigner  just  from  the 
wars,  as  your  Excellency,  who  is  an  old  soldier,  may 
suppose." 

10  "  I  have  put  up  gladly  with  worse  in  my  time,"  said 
the  governor,  returning  his  pocket  handkerchief  to  the 
hilt  of  his  sword. 

"  While  I  was  quietly  crunching  my  crust,"  pursued  the 
soldier,  "  I  heard  something  stir  within  the  vault.    I  lis- 

15  tened ;  it  was  the  tramp  of  a  horse.  By  and  by  a  man 
came  forth  from  a  door  in  the  foundation  of  the  tower, 
close  by  the  water's  edge,  leading  a  powerful  horse  by 
the  bridle. 

"  He  led  his  horse  to  the  water  close  by  where  I  was 

20  sitting,  so  that  I  had  a  fair  opportunity  of  reconnoitering 
him.  To  my  surprise  he  was  dressed  in  Moorish  garb, 
with  a  cuirass  of  steel,  and  a  polished  skullcap  that  I  dis- 
tinguished by  the  reflection  of  the  stars  upon  it.  His 
horse,   too,   was  harnessed  in  the  Moresco  fashion  with 

25  great  shovel  stirrups.  He  led  him,  as  I  said,  to  the  side 
of  the  stream,  into  which  the  animal  plunged  his  head 
almost  to  the  eyes. 


93 

" ' Comrade/  said  I,  'your  steed  drinks  well;  it  is  a 
good  sign  when  a  horse  plunges  his  muzzle  bravely  into 
the  water/ 

u  '  He  may  well  drink,'  said  the  stranger,  speaking  with 
a  Moorish  accent ;  '  it  is  a  good  year  since  he  had  his  last   5 
draught.' 

u '  That  beats  even  the  camels  I  have  seen  in  Africa/ 
said  I.  '  But  come,  you  seem  to  be  something  of  a  soldier ; 
will  you  sit  down  and  take  part  of  a  soldier's  fare  ? ' 

" '  I  have  no  time  to  pause  for  meat  or  drink,'  said  he ;  10 
'  I  have  a  long  journey  to  make  before  morning.' 

"  '  In  which  direction  ? '  said  I. 

"  '  Andalusia,'  said  he. 

" ' Exactly  my  route,'  said  I ;   'so,  as  you  won't  stop 
and  eat  with  me,  perhaps  you  will  let  me  mount  and  ride  15 
with  you.    I  see  that  your  horse  is  of  a  powerful  frame; 
I'll  warrant  he'll  carry  double.' 

" '  Agreed,'  said  the  trooper ;   and  it  would  not  have 
been  civil  and  soldierlike  to  refuse,  especially  as  I  had 
offered  to  share  my  supper  with  him.    So  up  he  mounted,  20 
and  up  I  mounted  behind  him. 

"  '  Hold  fast,'  said  he ;  '  my  steed  goes  like  the  wind.' 

" '  Never  fear  me,'  said  I,  and  so  off  we  set. 

"  From  a  walk  the  horse  soon  passed  into  a  trot,  from 
a  trot  to  a  gallop,  and  from  a  gallop  to  a  harum-scarum  25 
scamper.    It  seemed  as  if  rocks,  trees,  houses,  everything, 
flew  hurry-scurry  behind  us. 


94 

" '  What  town  is  this  ?  '  said  I. 

"'Segovia/  said  he;  and  before  the  word  was  out  of 
his  mouth  the  towers  of  Segovia  were  out  of  sight.  We 
swept  up  the  •  Guadarama  Mountains,  and  down  by  the 
5  Escurial ;  and  we  skirted  the  walls  of  Madrid,  and  we 
scoured  away  across  the  plains  of  La  Mancha.  In  this  way 
we  went  up  hill  and  down  dale,  by  towers  and  cities,  all 
buried  in  deep  sleep,  and  across  mountains  and  plains  and 
rivers  just  glimmering  in  the  starlight. 
10  "  To  make  a  long  story  short,  and  not  to  fatigue  your 
Excellency,  the  trooper  suddenly  pulled  up  on  the  side  of 
a  mountain.  'Here  we  are/  said  he,  'at  the  end  of  our 
journey.' 

GOVERNOR  MANCO  AND  THE  SOLDIER  — II 

"  I  looked  about,  but  could  see  no  signs  of  habitation ; 

15  nothing  but  the  mouth  of  a  cavern.  While  I  looked,  I 
saw  multitudes  of  people  in  Moorish  dress,  some  on  horse- 
back, some  on  foot,  arriving  as  if  borne  by  the  wind,  from 
all  points  of  the  compass,  and  hurrying  into  the  mouth  of 
the  cavern  like  bees  into  a  hive.    Before  I  could  ask  a 

20  question,  the  trooper  struck  his  long  Moorish  spurs  into 
the  horse's  flanks  and  dashed  in  with  the  throng.  We 
passed  along  a  steep,  winding  way  that  descended  into 
the  very  bowels  of  the  mountain.  As  we  pushed  on,  a 
light  began  to  glimmer  up,  by  little  and  little,  like  the 

25  first  glimmerings  of  day,  but  what  caused  it  I  could  not 


95 

discern.  It  grew  stronger  and  stronger,  and  enabled  me 
to  see  everything  around.  I  now  noticed,  as  we  passed 
along,  great  caverns,  opening  to  the  right  and  left,  like 
halls  in  an  arsenal.  In  some  there  were  shields  and 
helmets  and  cuirasses  and  lances  and  scimitars,  hanging  5 
against  the  walls ;  in  others  were  great  heaps  of  warlike 
munitions  and  camp  equipage  lying  upon  the  ground. 

"  It  would  have  done  your  Excellency's  heart  good,  be- 
ing an  old  soldier,  to  have  seen  such  grand  provision  for 
war.  Then  in  other  caverns  there  were  long  rows  of  10 
horsemen  armed  to  the  teeth,  with  lances  raised  and  ban- 
ners unfurled,  ready  for  the  field  ;  but  they  all  sat  motion- 
less in  their  saddles,  like  so  many  statues.  In  other  halls 
were  warriors  sleeping  on  the  ground  beside  their  horses, 
and  foot  soldiers  in  groups  ready  to  fall  into  the  ranks.  15 
All  were  in  old-fashioned  Moorish  dress  and  armor. 

"Well,  your  Excellency,  to  cut  a  long  story  short,  we 
at  length  entered  an  immense  cavern,  or  I  may  say  palace 
of  grotto  work,  the  walls  of  which  seemed  to  be  veined 
with  gold  and  silver,  and  to  sparkle  with  diamonds  and  20 
sapphires  and  all  kinds  of  precious  stones.  At  the  upper 
end  sat  a  Moorish  king  on  a  golden  throne,  with  his  nobles 
on  each  side,  and  a  guard  of  African  blacks  with  drawn 
scimitars.  All  the  crowd  that  continued  to  flock  in  —  and 
it  amounted  to  thousands  and  thousands  —  passed  one  by  25 
one  before  his  throne,  each  paying  homage  as  he  passed. 
Some  of  the  multitude  were  dressed  in  magnificent  robes, 


96 

without  stain  or  blemish,  and  sparkling  with  jewels  ;  others 
in  burnished  and  enameled  armor;  while  others  were  in 
moldered  and  mildewed  garments,  and  in  armor  all  bat- 
tered and  dented,  and  covered  with  rust. 
5  "  I  had  hitherto  held  my  tongue,  for  your  Excellency 
well  knows  it  is  not  for  a  soldier  to  ask  many  questions 
when  on  duty,  but  I  could  keep  silent  no  longer. 

" '  Prithee,  comrade,'  said  I,  '  what  is  the  meaning  of 
all  this  ? ' 

10  " '  This,'  said  the  trooper,  '  is  a  great  and  fearful  mys- 
tery. Know,  0  Christian,  that  you  see  before  you  the 
court  and  army  of  Boabdil,  the  last  king  of  Granada.' 

"'What  is  this  you  tell  me?'  cried  I.  <  Boabdil  and 
his  court  were  exiled  from  the  land  hundreds  of  years 

15  agone,  and  all  died  in  Africa.' 

" '  So  it  is  recorded  in  your  lying  chronicles,'  replied 
the  Moor ;  '  but  know  that  Boadbil  and  the  warriors  who 
made  the  last  struggle  for  Granada  were  all  shut  up  in 
the  mountain  by  powerful  enchantment.    As  for  the  king 

20  and  army  that  marched  forth  from  Granada  at  the  time 
of  the  surrender,  they  were  a  mere  phantom  train  of 
spirits  and  demons,  permitted  to  assume  those  shapes  to 
deceive  the  Christian  sovereigns.  And,  furthermore,  let 
me  tell  you,  friend,  that  all  Spain  is  a  country  under  the 

25  power  of  enchantment.  There  is  not  a  mountain  cave, 
not  a  lonely  watch  tower  in  the  plains,  nor  a  ruined  castle 
on  the  hills,  but  has  some  spellbound  warriors  sleeping 


97 

from  age  to  age  within  its  vaults.  Once  every  year,  on 
the  Eve  of  St.  John,  they  are  released  from  enchantment, 
from  sunset  to  sunrise,  and  permitted  to  repair  here  to 
pay  homage  to  their  sovereign;  and  the  crowds  which 
you  beheld  swarming  into  the  cavern  are  Moslem  warriors  5 
from  their  haunts  in  all  parts  of  Spain.  For  my  part,  you 
saw  the  ruined  tower  of  the  bridge  in  Old  Castile,  where 
I  have  now  wintered  and  summered  for  many  hundred 
years,  and  where  I  must  be  back  again  by  daybreak.  As 
to  the  battalions  of  horse  and  foot  which  you  beheld  10 
drawn  up  in  array  in  the  neighboring  caverns,  they  are 
the  spellbound  warriors  of  Granada.  It  is  written  in  the 
book  of  fate  that,  when  the  enchantment  is  broken,  Boab- 
dil  will  descend  from  the  mountain  at  the  head  of  this 
army,  resume  his  throne  in  the  Alhambra  and  his  sway  15 
of  Granada,  and,  gathering  together  the  enchanted  war- 
riors from  all  parts  of  Spain,  will  reconquer  the  Peninsula 
and  restore  it  to  Moslem  rule.' 

"  '  And  when  shall  this  happen  ?  '  said  I. 

" 6  Allah  alone  knows.  We  had  hoped  that  the  day  of  20 
deliverance  was  at  hand ;  but  there  reigns  at  present  a 
vigilant  governor  in  the  Alhambra,  a  stanch  old  soldier, 
well  known  as  Governor  Manco.  While  such  a  warrior 
holds  command  of  the  very  outpost,  and  stands  ready  to 
check  the  first  irruption  from  the  mountain,  I  fear  Boab-  25 
dil  and  his  soldiery  must  be  content  to  rest  upon  their 
arms.' " 


98 

Here  the  governor  raised  himself  somewhat  perpendicu- 
larly, adjusted  his  sword,  and  twirled  up  his  mustaches. 

"  To  make  a  long  story  short,  and  not  to  fatigue  your 
Excellency,  the  trooper,  having  given  me  this  account, 

5  dismounted  from  his  steed. 

" '  Tarry  here,'  said  he,  '  and  guard  my  steed  while  I 
go  and  bow  the  knee  to  Boabdil.'  So  saying  he  strode 
away  among  the  throng  that  pressed  forward  to  the 
throne. 

10  "  <  What 's  to  be  done  ? '  thought  I,  when  thus  left  to 
myself ;  '  shall  I  wait  here,  or  shall  I  make  the  most  of 
my  time  and  beat  a  retreat  from  this  hobgoblin  commu- 
nity ? '  A  soldier's  mind  is  soon  made  up,  as  your  Excel- 
lency well  knows.    As  to  the  horse,  he  belonged  to  an 

is  avowed  enemy  of  the  faith  and  the  realm,  and  was  a  fair 
prize  according  to  the  rules  of  war.  So,  hoisting  myself 
into  the  saddle,  I  turned  the  reins,  struck  the  Moorish 
stirrups  into  the  sides  of  the  steed,  and  put  him  to  make 
the  best  of  his  way  out  of  the  passage  by  which  he  had 

20  entered.  As  we  scoured  by  the  halls  where  the  Moslem 
horsemen  sat  in  motionless  battalions,  I  thought  I  heard 
the  clang  of  armor  and  a  hollow  murmur  of  voices.  I 
gave  the  steed  another  taste  of  the  stirrups  and  doubled 
my  speed.    There  was  now  a  sound  behind  me  like  a  rush- 

25  ing  blast ;  I  heard  the  clatter  of  a  thousand  hoofs ;  a 
countless  throng  overtook  me.  I  was  borne  along  in  the 
press  and  hurled  forth  from  the  mouth  of  the  cavern, 


99 

while  thousands  of  shadowy  forms  were  swept  off  in  every 
direction  by  the  four  winds  of  heaven. 

"  In  the  whirl  and  confusion  of  the  scene  I  was  thrown 
senseless  to  the  earth.  When  I  came  to  myself  I  was  lying 
on  the  brow  of  a  hill,  with  the  Arabian  steed  standing  5 
beside  me ;  for  in  falling,  my  arm  had  slipped  within  the 
bridle,  which,  I  presume,  prevented  his  whisking  off  to 
Old  Castile. 

"  Your  Excellency  may  easily  judge  of  my  surprise,  in 
looking  round,  to  behold  the  hedges  of  aloes  and  Indian  10 
figs,  and  other  proofs  of  a  southern  climate,  and  to  see  a 
great  city  below  me,  with  towers  and  palaces  and  a  grand 
cathedral. 

"  I  descended  the  hill  cautiously,  leading  my  steed,  for 
I  was  afraid  to  mount  him  again,  lest  he  should  play  me  15 
some  slippery  trick.  As  I  descended,  I  met  your  patrol, 
who  let  me  into  the  secret  that  it  was  Granada  that,  lay 
before  me,  and  that  I  was  actually  under  the  walls  of  the 
Alhambra,  the  fortress  of  the  redoubted  Governor  Manco, 
the  terror  of  all  enchanted  Moslems.  When  I  heard  this,  20 
I  determined  at  once  to  seek  your  Excellency,  to  inform 
you  of  all  that  I  had  seen,  and  to  warn  you  of  the  perils 
that  surround  and  undermine  you." 

"  And  prithee,  friend,  you  who  are  a  veteran  campaigner, 
and  have  seen  so  much  service,"  said  the  governor,  "  how  25 
should  you  advise  me  to  proceed  in  order  to  prevent  this 
evil?" 


100 

a  It  is  not  for  a  humble  private  of  the  ranks,"  said  the 
soldier,  modestly,  "  to  pretend  to  instruct  a  commander  of 
your  Excellency's  sagacity  ;  but  it  appears  to  me  that  your 
excellency  might  cause  all  the  caves  and  entrances  into 
6  the  mountains  to  be  walled  up  with  solid  mason  work,  so 
that  Boabdil  and  his  army  might  be  completely  corked  up 
in  their  subterranean  habitation." 

The  governor  placed  his  arm  akimbo,  with  his  hand 
resting  on  the  hilt  of  his  Toledo,  fixed  his  eye  upon  the 

10  soldier,  and  gently  wagging  his  head  from  one  side  to  the 
other,  "  So,  friend,"  said  he,  "  then  you  really  suppose 
that  I  am  to  be  gulled  with  this  cock-and-bull  story  about 
enchanted  mountains  and  enchanted  Moors  ?  Hark  ye, 
culprit ;  not  another  word !    An  old  soldier  you  may  be ; 

15  but  you  '11  find  you  have  an  older  soldier  to  deal  with, 
and  one  not  easily  outgeneraled.  Ho  !  guards  there  !  Put 
this  fellow  in  irons.  A  chamber  in  the  Vermilion  Towers, 
which,  though  not  under  a  magic  spell,  will  hold  him  as 
safe  as  any  cave  of  the  enchanted  Moors." 

20  "Your  Excellency  will  do  as  you  think  proper,"  said 
the  prisoner,  coolly.  "  I  shall  be  thankful  for  any  accom- 
modation in  the  fortress.  A  soldier  who  has  been  in  the 
wars,  as  your  Excellency  well  knows,  is  not  particular 
about  his  lodgings.    Provided  I  have  a  snug  dungeon,  and 

25  regular  rations,  I  shall  manage  to  make  myself  comfort- 
able. I  would  only  entreat  that,  while  your  Excellency 
is  so  careful  about  me,  you  would  have  an  eye  to  your 


101  'iv<\:<  ■ 

fortress,  and  think  of  the  hint  I  dropped  about  stopping 
up  the  entrances  to  the  mountain." 

Here  ended  the  scene.  The  prisoner  was  conducted  to 
a  strong  dungeon  in  the  Vermilion  Towers,  and  the 
Arabian  steed  was  led  to  his  Excellency's  stable.  5 

In  the  mean  time  the  story  took  wind  and  became  the 
talk,  not  merely  of  the  fortress,  but  of  the  whole  city  of 
Granada.  It  was  said  that  the  noted  robber,  Manuel 
Borasco,  had  fallen  into  the  dutches  of  old  Governor 
Manco,  and  had  been  cooped  up  by  him  in  a  dungeon  of  10 
the  Vermilion  Towers;  and  all  who  had  been  robbed  by 
him  flocked  to  recognize  the  marauder. 

The  Vermilion  Towers,  as  is  well  known,  stand  apart 
from  the  Alhambra,  on  a  sister  hill,  separated  from  the 
main  fortress  by  a  ravine  down  which  passes  the  main  15 
avenue.  There  were  no  outer  walls,  but  a  sentinel  pa- 
trolled before  the  tower.  The  window  of  the  chamber  in 
which  the  soldier  was  confined  was  strongly  grated,  and 
looked  upon  a  small  esplanade.  Here  the  good  folks  of 
Granada  repaired  to  gaze  at  him,  as  they  would  at  a  20 
laughing  hyena,  grinning  through  the  cage  of  a  menagerie. 

Nobody,  however,  recognized  him  for  Manuel  Borasco, 
for  that  terrible  robber  was  noted  for  a  ferocious  physiog- 
nomy, and  had  by  no  means  the  good-humored  squint  of 
the  prisoner.  Visitors  came  not  merely  from  the  city,  but  25 
from  all  parts  of  the  country;  but  nobody  knew  him, 
and  there  began  to  be  doubts  in  the  minds  of  the  common 


102 

people  whether  there  might  not  be  some  truth  in  his  story. 
That  Boabdil  and  his  army  were  shut  up  in  the  mountain 
was  an  old  tradition  which  many  of  the  ancient  inhab- 
itants had  heard  from  their  fathers. 
5  Numbers  went  up  to  the  mountain  of  the  sun  in  search 
of  the  cave  mentioned  by  the  soldier,  and  saw  and  peeped 
into  the  deep,  dark  pit,  descending,  no  one  knows  how  far, 
into  the  mountain. 

By  degrees  the  soldier  became  popular  with  the  com- 

10  mon  people.    He  procured  an  old  guitar,  and  would  sit  by 

his  window  and  sing  ballads,  to  the  delight  of  the  women 

of  the  neighborhood,  who  would  assemble  on  the  esplanade 

in  the  evening  and  dance  to  his  music. 

One  morning  the  sun  rose  high  above  the  mountain 

15  tops  and  glittered  in  at  the  casement  of  the  governor  ere 

he.  was  awakened  from  his  morning  dreams  by  his  veteran 

corporal,  who  stood  before  him  with  terror  stamped  upon 

his  iron  visage. 

"  He 's  off !  he 's  gone  !  "  cried  the  corporal,  gasping  for 
20  breath. 

"  Who  's  off  ?  who 's  gone  ?  " 

"The  soldier.    His  dungeon  is  empty,  but  the  door  is 
locked !  " 

But  how,  and  which  way  had  the  fugitive  escaped  ?   An 
25  old  peasant  who  lived  in  a  cottage  by  the  roadside,  lead- 
ing up  into  the  Sierra,  declared  that  he  had  heard  the 
tramp  of  a  powerful  steed  just  before  daybreak,  passing 


103 


up  into  the  mountains.    He  had  looked  out  at  his  case- 
ment, and  could  just  distinguish  a  horseman. 

"  Search  the  stables !  "  cried  Governor  Manco.  The 
stables  were  searched ;  all  the  horses  were  in  their  stalls, 
excepting  the  Arabian  steed.  In  his  place  was  a  stout 
cudgel  tied  to  the  manger,  and  on  it  a  label  bearing  these 
words,  "  A  gift  to  Governor  Manco  from  an  Old  Soldier." 

Abridged  from  The  Alhambra 

Alhambra  (al  ham' bra)  :  a  Moorish  fortress,  and  palace  in  Spain.  It  is 
located  above  the  city  of  Granada,  and  surrounds  beautiful  courts  filled 
with  flowers.  It  derives  its  name,  signifying  The  Red,  from  the  fact  that 
it  is  built  of  reddish  stone.  —  motley :  strictly,  of  different  colors  ;  made 
up  of  various  elements.  —  varlet :  fellow.  —  reconnoitering  :  examining. — 
Moresco  :  Moorish.  —  Andalusia  :  a  fertile  region  in  southern  Spain.  — 
Segovia:  a  city  of  central  Spain. — Guadarama  Mountains:  a  range  of 
mountains  in  central  Spain. — Escurial :  a  famous  building,  twenty-seven 
miles  from  Madrid.  In  it  are  a  monastery,  a  palace,  a  church,  and  the 
burial  place  of  the  Spanish  sovereigns.  —  La  Mancha  (la  man'cha)  :  an 
old  province  of  Spain.  —  Boabdil  (bo  ab  deT)  :  the  last  Moorish  king  of 
Granada.  He  was  driven  from  his  throne  by  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  in 
1491.  —  agone :  ago.  —  Eve  of  St.  John  :  the  eve  of  Midsummer  Day,  when 
fairies  filled  the  woods  and  dumb  animals  were  supposed  to  be  able  to 
speak.  —  Moslem  :  Mohammedan.  — Allah  :  the  Deity  of  the  Mohammedan 
faith.  —  Toledo  :  Toledo  swords  were  of  a  superior  quality.  —  cock-and-bull 
story  :  a  fable esplanade  (es  pla  nad')  :  an  open  space  or  terrace. 


104 
WASHINGTON  IRVING 

William  Makepeace  Thackeray 

William  Makepeace  Thackeray  (1811-1863)  was  one  of  the  great 

English  novelists.    His  most   famous  books  are    Vanity  Fair,  Pendennis, 

Henry  Esmond,  and   The  Newcomes.    The  literary  quality  of  his  work  is 

superior  to  that  of  Scott  and  Dickens,  though  they  may  outrank  him  in 

5  other  ways. 

Almost  the  last  words  which  Sir  Walter  spoke  to  Lock- 
hart,  his  biographer,  were,  "  Be  a  good  man,  my  dear !  " 
and  with  the  last  flicker  of  breath  on  his  dying  lips,  he 
sighed  a  farewell  to  his  family,  and  passed  away  blessing 

io  them. 

Two  men,  famous,  admired,  beloved,  have  just  left  us.1 
Ere  a  few  weeks  are  over,  many  a  critic's  pen  will  be  at 
work  reviewing  their  lives  and  passing  judgment  on  their 
works.  One  was  the  first  ambassador  whom  the  New  World 

15  of  Letters  sent  to  the  Old.  He  was  born  almost  with  the 
republic  ;  the  father  of  the  country  had  laid  his  hand  on 
the  child's  head.  He  bore  Washington's  name ;  he  came 
amongst  us  bringing  the  kindest  sympathy,  the  most  art- 
less, smiling  good  will.    His  new   country  (which  some 

20  people  here  might  be  disposed  to  regard  rather  supercil- 
iously) could  send  us,  as  he  showed  in  his  own  person, 
a  gentleman  who,  though  himself  born  in  no  very  high 

1  Washington  Irving  died  November  28,  1859  ;  Lord  Macaulay  died 
December  28,  1859. 


105 

sphere,  was  most  finished,  polished,  easy,  witty,  quiet ;  and, 
socially,  the  equal  of  the  most  refined  Europeans.  If  Irv- 
ing's  welcome  in  England  was  a  kind  one,  was  it  not  also 
gratefully  remembered  ?.  If  he  ate  our  salt,  did  he  not  pay 
us  with  a  thankful  heart  ?  Who  can  calculate  the  amount  5 
of  friendliness  and  good  feeling  for  our  country  which  this 
writer's  generous  and  untiring  regard  for  us  disseminated 
in  his  own  ?  His  books  are  read  by  millions  of  his  country- 
men, whom  he  has  taught  to  love  England,  and  why  to 
love  her.  It  would  have  been  easy  to  speak  otherwise  than  10 
he  did  ;  to  inflame  national  rancors,  which,  at  the  time  when 
he  first  became  known  as  a  public  writer,  war  had  just  re- 
newed ;  to  cry  down  the  old  civilization  at  the  expense  of 
the  new  ;  to  point  out  our  faults,  arrogance,  shortcomings, 
and  give  the  republic  to  infer  how  much  she  was  the  parent  15 
state's  superior.  But  the  good  Irving,  the  peaceful,  the 
friendly,  had  no  place  for  bitterness  in  his  heart,  and  no 
scheme  but  kindness.  Received  in  England  with  extraor- 
dinary tenderness  and  friendship  (Scott,  South ey,  Byron, 
a  hundred  others  have  borne  witness  to  their  liking  for  20 
him),  he  was  a  messenger  of  good  will  and  peace  between 
his  country  and  ours.  "  See,  friends ! "  he  seems  to  say, 
"these  English  are  not  so  wicked,  rapacious,  callous, 
proud,  as  you  have  been  taught  to  believe  them.  I  went 
amongst  them  a  humble  man ;  won  my  way  by  my  pen  ;  25 
and,  when  known,  found  every  hand  held  out  to  me  with 
kindliness    and    welcome.     Scott    is    a   great    man,    you 


106 

acknowledge.  Did  not  Scott's  King  of  England  give  a 
gold  medal  to  him,  and  another  to  me,  your  countryman 
and  a  stranger  ?  " 

Tradition  in  the  United  States  still  fondly  retains  the 
5  history  of  the  feasts  and  rejoicings  which  awaited  Irving 
on  his  return  to  his  native  country  from  Europe.  He  had 
a  national  welcome ;  he  stammered  in  his  speeches,  hid 
himself  in  confusion,  and  the  people  loved  him  all  the 
better.    He  had  worthily  represented  America  in  Europe. 

10  In  that  young  community  a  man  who  brings  home  with 
him  abundant  European  testimonials  is  still  treated  with 
respect;  and  Irving  went  home  medaled  by  the  King, 
diplomatized  by  the  University,  crowned  and  honored  and 
admired. 

15  In  America  the  love  and  regard  for  Irving  was  a  national 
sentiment.  Party  wars  are  perpetually  raging  there,  and 
are  carried  on  by  the  press  with  a  rancor  and  fierceness 
against  individuals  which  exceed  British  virulence.  It 
seemed  to  me,  during  a  year's  travel  in  the  country,  as  if 

20  no  one  ever  aimed  a  blow  at  Irving.  All  men  held  their 
hands  from  that  harmless,  friendly  peacemaker.  I  had  the 
good  fortune  to  see  him  at  New  York,  Philadelphia,  Balti- 
more, and  Washington,  and  remarked  how  in  every  place 
he  was   honored  and  welcomed.     The   gate  of  his  own 

25  charming  little  domain  on  the  beautiful  Hudson  River 
was  forever  swinging  before  visitors  who  came  to  him. 
He  shut  out  no  one. 


107 

Be  a  good  man,  my  dear.  Was  not  Irving  good,  and, 
of  his  works,  was  not  his  life  the  best  part  ?  In  his  family, 
gentle,  generous,  good-humored,  affectionate,  self-denying ; 
in  society,  a  delightful  example  of  complete  gentleman- 
hood  ;  quite  unspoiled  by  prosperity ;  never  obsequious  to  5 
the  great  (or,  worse  still,  to  the  base  and  mean,  as  some 
public  men  are  forced  to  be  in  his  and  other  countries) ; 
eager  to  acknowledge  every  contemporary's  merit ;  always 
kind  and  affable  to  the  young  members  of  his  calling ;  in 
his  professional  bargains  and  mercantile  dealings  deli-  10 
cately  honest  and  grateful ;  one  of  the  most  charming 
masters  of  our  lighter  language;  the  constant  friend  to 
us  and  our  nation ;  to  men  of  letters  doubly  dear,  not  for 
his  wit  and  genius  merely,  but  as  an  exemplar  of  good- 
ness, probity,  and  pure  life.  15 

I  don't  know  what  sort  of  testimonial  will  be  raised  to 
him  in  his  own  country,  where  generous  and  enthusiastic 
acknowledgment  of  American  merit  is  never  wanting; 
but  Irving  was  in  our  service  as  well  as  theirs,  and  I 
should  like  to  hear  of  some  memorial  raised  by  English  20 
writers  and  friends  of  letters  in  affectionate  remembrance 
of  the  dear  and  good  Washington  Irving. 

Abridged  from  Roundabout  Papers 

Sir  Walter :  Sir  Walter  Scott Lockhart :  Sir  Walter  Scott's  son-in- 
law ate  our  salt:  shared  our  hospitality Scott's  King  of  England: 

George  IV.  —  the  University:  Oxford  gave  Irving  a  degree. 


108 
HENRY  HUDSON'S  LAST  VOYAGE1 

Henry  van  Dyke 

Dr.  Henry  van  Dyke  is  an  American  author  whose  work  is  of  wide 
range  and  high  excellence.  In  1899  he  became  professor  of  English  litera- 
ture at  Princeton  University. 

Note.  Henry  Hudson,  the  discoverer  of  the  Hudson  River,  made  his 
5  last  voyage  into  the  great  bay  that  bears  his  name.  Discouraged  by  their 
many  hardships  his  crew  mutinied,  and  forcing  their  captain  with  his  son 
and  seven  of  their  shipmates  into  a  boat,  they  set  it  adrift  on  the  lonely 
sea.  Hudson's  mate,  John  King  (Henry  King,  according  to  one  authority), 
was  among  the  number  thus  abandoned.  Nothing  was  ever  heard  of  their 
10  fate.  A  few  of  the  mutineers  succeeded  in  reaching  Ireland  with  the  ship, 
but  the  leaders  perished  miserably  on  their  way  home. 

One  sail  in  sight  upon  the  lonely  sea, 

And  only  one,  God  knows  !    For  never  ship 

But  mine  broke  through  the  icy  gates  that  guard 

15         These  waters  greater  grown  than  any  since 
We  left  the  shore  of  England.    We  were  first, 
My  men,  to  battle  in  between  the  bergs 
And  floes  to  these  wide  waves.    This  gulf  is  mine ; 
I  name  it !    And  that  flying  sail  is  mine  ! 

20        And  there,  hull  down  below  that  flying  sail, 

The  ship  that  staggers  home  is  mine,  mine,  mine  ! 

My  ship  Discoverie !  .  .  . 

Look  —  there  she  goes  —  her  topsails  in  the  sun 

1  From  The  White  Bees  and  Other  Poems.  Copyright,  1909,  by  Charles 
Scribner's  Sons. 


109 

Gleam  from  the  ragged  ocean  edge,  and  drop 
Clean  out  of  sight !    So  let  the  traitors  go 
Clean  out  of  mind  !    We  '11  think  of  braver  things  ! 
Come  closer  in  the  boat,  my  friends.    John  King, 


You  take  the  tiller,  keep  her  head  nor' west. 
You,  Philip  Staffe,  the  only  one  who  chose 
Freely  to  share  with  us  the  shallop's  fate,  — 
Too  good  an  English  sailor  to  desert 


110 

These  crippled  comrades,  —  try  to  make  them  rest 
More  easy  on  the  thwarts.    And  John,  my  son, 
My  little  shipmate,  come  and  lean  your  head 
Upon  your  father's  knee.    Do  you  recall 

5  That  April  day  in  Ethelburga's  church, 
Five  years  ago,  when  side  by  side  we  kneeled 
To  take  the  sacrament,  with  all  our  company, 
Before  the  Hopewell  left  St.  Catherine's  docks 
On  our  first  voyage  ?   Then  it  was  I  vowed 

10  My  sailor  soul  and  yours  to  search  the  sea 
Until  we  found  the  water  path  that  leads 
From  Europe  into  Asia. 

I  believe 
That  God  has  poured  the  ocean  round  His  world, 

15  Not  to  divide,  but  to  unite  the  lands ; 

And  all  the  English  seamen  who  have  dared 
In  little  ships  to  plow  uncharted  waves  — 
Davis  and  Drake,  Hawkins  and  Frobisher, 
Raleigh  and  Gilbert  —  all  the  other  names  — 

20  Are  written  in  the  chivalry  of  God 

As  men  who  served  His  purpose.    I  would  claim 
A  place  among  that  knighthood  of  the  sea : 
And  I  have  earned  it,  though  my  quest  should  fail ! 
For  mark  me  well.    The  honor  of  our  life 

25  Derives  from  this :  to  have  a  certain  aim 
Before  us  always,  which  our  will  must  seek 


Ill 

Amid  the  peril  of  uncertain  ways. 

Then,  though  we  miss  the  goal,  our  search  is  crowned 

With  courage,  and  along  the  path  we  find 

A  rich  reward  of  unexpected  things. 

Press  towards  the  aim  :  take  fortune  as  it  fares !  5 

I  know  not  why,  but  something  in  my  heart 

Has  always  whispered,  "  Westward  seek  your  aim." 

Four  times  they  sent  me  east,  but  still  my  prow 

Turned  west  again,  and  felt  among  the  floes 

Of  ruttling  ice  along  the  Groneland  coast,  10 

And  down  the  rugged  shores  of  Newfoundland, 

And  past  the  rocky  capes  and  sandy  bays 

Where  Gosnold  sailed,  —  like  one  who  feels  his  way 

With  outstretched  hand  across  a  darkened  room, — 

I  groped  among  the  inlets  and  the  isles,  15 

To  find  the  passage  to  the  Isles  of  Spice. 

I  have  not  found  it  yet  —  but  I  have  found 

Things  worth  the  finding  ! 

Son,  have  you  forgot 
Those  mellow  autumn  days,  two  years  ago,  20 

When  first  we  sent  our  little  ship  Half  Moon  — 
The  flag  of  Holland  floating  at  her  peak  — 
Across  a  sandy  bar,  and  sounded  in 
Among  the  channels  to  a  goodly  bay 

Where  all  the  navies  of  the  world  could  ride  ?  25 

A  fertile  island  that  the  redmen  called 


112 

Manhattan  crowned  the  bay;  and  all  the  land 
Around  was  bountiful  and  friendly  fair. 
But  never  land  was  fair  enough  to  hold 
The  seaman  from  the  calling  of  the  waves : 

5  And  so  we  bore  to  westward,  past  the  isle, 
Along  a  mighty  inlet,  where  the  tide 
Was  troubled  by  a  downward-rolling  flood 
That  seemed  to  come  from  far  away, — perhaps 
From  some  mysterious  gulf  of  Tartary  ? 

10  We  followed  that  wide  water  way,  by  palisades 
Of  naked  rock  where  giants  might  have  held 
Their  fortress ;  and  by  rolling  hills  adorned 
With  forests  rich  in  timber  for  great  ships ; 
Through  narrows  where  the  mountains  shut  us  in 

15  With  frowning  cliffs  that  seemed  to  bar  the  stream ; 
And  then  through  open  reaches  where  the  banks 
Sloped  to  the  water  gently,  with  their  fields 
Of  corn  and  lentils  smiling  in  the  sun. 
Ten  days  we  voyaged  through  that  placid  land, 

20  Until  we  came  to  shoals ;  and  sent  a  boat 
Upstream,  to  find  —  what  I  already  knew  — 
We  sailed  upon  a  river,  not  a  strait ! 

But  what  a  river !    God  has  never  poured 
A  stream  more  royal  through  a  land  more  rich. 
25  Even  now  I  see  it  flowing  in  my  dream, 
While  coming  ages  people  it  with  men 


113 

Of  manhood  equal  to  the  river's  pride. 

I  see  the  wigwams  of  the  redmen  changed 

To  ample  houses,  and  the  tiny  plots 

Of  maize  and  green  tobacco  broadened  out 

To  prosperous  farms,  that  spread  o'er  hill  and  dale  5 

The  many-colored  mantle  of  their  crops. 

I  see  the  terraced  vineyards  on  the  slopes 

Where  now  the  wild  grape  loops  the  tangled  wood  ;   * 

And  cattle  feeding  where  the  red  deer  roam ; 

And  wild  bees  gathered  into  busy  hives  10 

To  store  the  silver  comb  with  golden  sweet ; 

And  all  the  promised  land  begins  to  flow 

With  milk  and  honey.    Stately  manors  rise 

Along  the  banks,  and  castles  top  the  hills, 

And  little  villages  grow  populous  with  trade,  15 

Until  the  river  runs  as  proudly  as  the  Rhine,  — 

The  thread  that  links  a  hundred  towns  and  towers ! 

All  this  I  see,  and  when  it  comes  to  pass 

I  prophesy  a  city  on  the  isle 

They  call  Manhattan,  equal  in  her  state  20 

To  all  the  older  capitals  of  earth,  — 

The  gateway  city  of  a  golden  world,  — 

A  city  girt  with  masts,  and  crowned  with  spires, 

And  swarming  with  a  busy  host  of  men, 

While  to  her  open  door,  across  the  bay,  25 

The  ships  of  all  the  nations  flock  like  doves ! 

My  name  will  be  remembered  there,  for  men 


114 

Will  say,  "  This  river  and  this  bay  were  found 
By  Henry  Hudson,  on  his  way  to  seek 
The  Northwest  Passage  into  farthest  Inde." 

Yes,  yes,  I  sought  it  then,  1  seek  it  still, 
5  My  great  adventure,  pole  star  of  my  heart ! 
For  look  ye,  friends,  our  voyage  is  not  done : 
Somewhere  beyond  these  floating  fields  of  ice, 
Somewhere  along  this  westward  widening  bay, 
Somewhere  beneath  this  luminous  northern  night, 

10  The  channel  opens  to  the  Orient,  — 
I  know  it,  —  and  some  day  a  little  ship 
Will  enter  there  and  battle  safely  through  ! 
And  why  not  ours  —  to-morrow  —  who  can  tell  ? 
We  hold  by  hope  as  long  as  life  endures : 

15  These  are  the  longest  days  of  all  the  year, 
The  world  is  round,  and  God  is  everywhere, 
And  while  our  shallop  floats  we  still  can  steer. 
So  point  her  up,  John  King,  nor' west  by  north  ! 
We  '11  keep  the  honor  of  a  certain  aim 

20  Amid  the  peril  of  uncertain  ways, 

And  sail  ahead,  and  leave  the  rest  to  God. 

shallop  (shal'lop)  :  a  small,  open  boat.  —  Ethelburga's  church :  the 
church  of  St.  Ethelburga  in  London.  —  Davis  (or  Davys),  Drake,  Hawkins, 
Frob'isher,  Raleigh,  Gilbert:  famous  English  navigators rattling  :  rat- 
tling  Grdneland  (gren'land):  Greenland.  —  Gosnold  :  an  English  explorer 

and  the  discoverer  of  Cape  Cod Half  Moon:  the  ship  which  was  the  first 

to  enter  the  Hudson  River.  —  Inde  (md)  :  India.  —  point  her  up  :  keep  her 
[the  boat's]  head  toward  a  certain  point. 


115 
PLAIN  LIVING 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson 

Ralph  Waldo  Emersox,  a  distinguished  author  and  lecturer,  was 
born  in  Boston  in  1803  and  died  in  Concord  in  1882.  He  was  a  profound 
thinker,  and  possessed  a  deep  insight  into  both  nature  and  human  life. 

What  is  odious  but  noise,  and  people  who  scream  and 
bewail?   people  whose  vane  points  always  east,  who  live   5 
to  dine,  who  send  for  the  doctor,  who  coddle  themselves, 
who  toast  their  feet  on  the  register,  who  intrigue  to  secure 
a  padded  chair,  and  a  corner  out  of  the  draught.    Suffer 
them  once  to  begin  the  enumeration  of  their  infirmities, 
and  the  sun  will  go  down  on  the  unfinished  tale.    Let  these  10 
triflers  put  us  out  of  conceit  with  petty  comforts.    To  a 
man  at  work,  the  frost  is  but  a  color  :  the  rain,  the  wind, 
—  he  forgot  them  when  he  came  in.    Let  us  learn  to  live 
coarsely,  dress  plainly,  and  lie  hard.     The  least  habit  of 
dominion  over  the  palate  has  certain  good  effects  not  15 
easily  estimated. 

A  man  in  pursuit  of  greatness  feels  no  little  wants.  How 
can  you  mind  diet,  bed,  dress,  or  salutes  or  compliments, 
or  the  figure  you  make  in  company,  or  wealth,  or  even  the 
bringing  things  to  pass,  when  you  think  how  paltry  are  20 
the  machinery  and  the  workers  ?  Wordsworth  was  praised 
to  me,  in  Westmoreland,  for  having  afforded  to  his  coun- 
try neighbors  an  example  of  a  modest  household  where 


116 

comfort  and  culture  were  secured,  without  display.  And 
a  boy  who  wears  his  rusty  cap  and  outgrown  coat,  that  he 
may  secure  the  coveted  place  in  college,  and  the  right  in 
the  library,  is  educated  to  some  purpose.  There  is  a  great 
5  deal  of  self-denial  and  manliness  in  poor  and  middle -class 
houses,  in  town  and  country,  that  has  not  got  into  lit- 
erature, and  never  will,  but  that  keeps  the  earth  sweet ; 
that  saves  on  superfluities,  and  spends  on  essentials  ;  that 
goes  rusty,  and  educates  the  boy  ;  that  sells  the  horse,  but 

10  builds  the  school ;  works  early  and  late,  takes  two  looms 
in  the  factory,  three  looms,  six  looms,  but  pays  off  the 
mortgage  on  the  paternal  farm,  and  then  goes  back  cheer- 
fully to  work  again. 

We  wish  to  play  at  heroism.    But  the  wiser  God  says, 

15  Take  the  shame,  the  poverty,  the  solitude  that  belong  to 
truth  speaking.  Try  the  rough  water  as  well  as  the 
smooth. 

He  who  aims  high  must  dread  an  easy  home  and  popular 
mariners.    Heaven  sometimes  hedges  a  rare  character  about 

20  with  ungainliness  and  odium,  as  the  bur  that  protects  the 
fruit.  If  there  is  any  great  and  good  thing  in  store  for 
you,  it  will  not  come  at  the  first  or  the  second  call,  nor  in 
the  shape  of  fashion,  ease,  and  city  drawing-rooms.  Pop- 
ularity is  for  dolls.    "  Steep  and  craggy,"  said  Porphyry, 

25  "is  the  path  of  the  gods."  From  The  Conduct  of  Life 

odium  :  dislike,  blame.  — Porphyry  (por'fl  ri)  :  a  famous  pagan  philoso- 
pher who  lived  in  the  third  century  a.d. 


117 


THE  WAY  TO  ARCADY 


Hexry  C.  Buxner 


Hkxry  C.  Bunker  (1S55-1S96)  was  a  well-known  American  writer  of 

both  fiction  and  verse. 

"  Oh,  what 's  the  way  to  xVrcady, 

To  Arcady,  to  Arcady  ; 
Oh,  what 's  the  way  to  Arcady, 

Where  all  the  leaves  are  merry  ?" 

Oh,  what 's  the  way  to  Arcady  ? 
The  spring  is  rustling  in  the  tree,  — 
The  tree  the  wind  is  blowing  through,  — 

It  sets  the  blossoms  nickering  white. 
I  knew  not  skies  could  burn  so  blue, 

Nor  any  breezes  blow  so  light. 
They  blow  an  old-time  way  for  me, 
Across  the  world  to  Arcady. 

Oh,  what 's  the  way  to  Arcady  ? 
Sir  Poet,  with  the  rusty  coat, 
Quit  mocking  of  the  song-bird's  note. 
How  have  you  heart  for  any  tune, 


in 


15 


118 

You  with  the  wayworn  russet  shoon  ? 
Your  scrip,  a-swinging  by  your  side, 
Gapes  with  a  gaunt  mouth  hungry-wide. 
I  '11  brim  it  well  with  pieces  red, 
5  If  you  will  tell  the  way  to  tread. 

"  Oh,  I  am  bound  for  Arcady, 
And  if  you  but  keep  pace  with  me, 
You  tread  the  way  to  Arcady." 

And  where  away  lies  Arcady, 
10  And  how  long  yet  may  the  journey  be  ? 

"  Ah,  that,"  quoth  he,  "  I  do  not  know  : 
Across  the  clover  and  the  snow  — 
Across  the  frost,  across  the  flowers  — 
Through  summer  seconds  and  winter  hours, 
15  I  've  trod  the  way  my  whole  life  long, 

And  know  not  now  where  it  may  be ; 
My  guide  is  but  the  stir  to  song, 
That  tells  me  I  cannot  go  wrong, 

Or  clear  or  dark  the  pathway  be 

20  Upon  the  road  to  Arcady." 

Abridged 

Ar'cady :  an  ideal  country  where  happy  shepherds  and  gentle  shepherd- 
esses enjoy  simple  pleasures.  Arcady,  or  Arcadia,  is  familiar  in  modern 
literature,  but  its  connection  with  the  real  district  of  Arcadia  in  ancient 
Greece  is  not  readily  traced. — shoon:  shoes.  —  scrip;  a  bag  or  pouch 
carried  by  pilgrims  in  the  olden  time.  —  pieces  red :  coins  of  gold.  —  the 
stir  :  the  impulse.  —  or  ...  or  :  whether  .  .  .  or. 


119 
SILAS  WEGG  AND  MR.  BOFFIN 

Charles  Dickens 

Charles  Dickens  (1812-1870)  was  one  of  the  great  English  novelists. 
His  stories  are  characterized  by  a  keen  sense  of  humor,  and  a  genuine  sym- 
pathy with  the  poor  and  unfortunate.  One  of  the  most  popular  of  his  books 
is  David  Copperjield,  which  contains  many  incidents  of  the  author's  own 
unhappy  childhood.    The  following  selection  is  from  Our  Mutual  Friend.         5 

Over  against  a  London  house,  a  corner  house  not  far 
from  Cavendish  Square,  a  man  with  a  wooden  leg  had  sat 
for  some  years,  with  his  remaining  foot  in  a  basket  in  cold 
weather,  picking  up  a  living  in  this  wise.  Every  morning  at 
eight  o'clock  he  stumped  to  the  corner,  carrying  a  chair,  a  10 
clotheshorse,  a  pair  of  trestles,  a  board,  a  basket,  and  an  um- 
brella, all  strapped  together.  Separating  these,  the  board 
and  trestles  became  a  counter,  the  basket  supplied  the  few 
small  lots  of  fruit  and  sweets  that  he  offered  for  sale 
upon  it  and  became  a  foot  warmer,  the  unfolded  clothes-  15 
horse  displayed  a  choice  selection  of  half-penny  ballads 
and  became  a  screen,  and  the  stool  planted  within  it  be- 
came his  post  for  the  rest  of  the  day.  When  the  weather 
was  wet,  he  put  up  his  umbrella  over  his  stock  in  trade, 
not  over  himself ;  when  the  weather  was  dry,  he  furled  20 
that  faded  article,  tied  it  round  with  a  piece  of  yarn,  and 
laid  it  crosswise  under  the  trestles,  where  it  looked  like  an 
unwholesomely  forced  lettuce  that  had  lost  in  color  and 
crispness  what  it  had  gained  in  size. 


120 

He  had  established  his  right  to  the  corner  by  impercep- 
tible prescription.  He  had  never  varied  his  ground  an  inch, 
but  had  in  the  beginning  diffidently  taken  the  corner  upon 
which  the  side  of  the  house  gave.  A  howling  corner  in 
5  the  winter  time,  a  dusty  corner  in  the  summer  time,  an 
undesirable  corner  at  the  best  of  times.  Shelterless  frag- 
ments of  straw  and  paper  got  up  revolving  storms  there, 
when  the  main  street  was  at  peace ;  and  the  water  cart 
came  blundering  and  jolting  round  it,  making  it  muddy 

10  when  all  else  was  clean. 

Assuredly,  this  stall  of  Silas  Wegg's  was  the  hardest 
little  stall  of  all  the  sterile  little  stalls  in  London.  It  gave 
you  the  face-ache  to  look  at  his  apples  and  the  tooth-ache 
to  look  at  his  nuts.    Whether  from  too  much  east  wind  or 

15  no,  —  it  was  an  easterly  corner,  —  the  stall,  the  stock,  and 
the  keeper  were  all  as  dry  as  the  desert.  Wegg  was  a 
knotty  man,  and  a  close-grained,  with  a  face  carved  out  of 
very  hard  material,  that  had  just  as  much  play  of  expres- 
sion as  a  watchman's  rattle. 

20  The  only  article  in  which  Silas  dealt  that  was  not 
hard  was  gingerbread.  On  a  certain  day,  some  wretched 
infant  having  purchased  the  damp  gingerbread  horse  (fear- 
fully out  of  condition)  and  the  adhesive  bird  cage,  which 
had  been  exposed  for  the  day's  sale,  he  had  taken  a  tin 

25  box  from  under  his  stool  to  produce  a  relay  of  those  dread- 
ful specimens,  and  was  going  to  look  in  at  the  lid,  when 
he  said  to  himself,  pausing,  "  Oh,  here  you  are  again !  " 


121 


122 

The  words  referred  to  a  broad,  round-shouldered  old 
fellow,  comically  ambling  toward  the  corner.  He  wore 
thick  shoes,  and  thick  leather  gaiters,  and  thick  gloves. 
Both  as  to  his  dress  and  as  to  himself  he  was  of  an  over- 
5  lapping  rhinoceros  build,  with  folds  in  his  cheeks,  and  his 
forehead,  and  his  eyelids,  and  his  lips,  and  his  ears ;  but 
with  bright,  eager  gray  eyes  under  his  ragged  eyebrows 
and  broad-brimmed  hat,  —  a  very  odd-looking  old  fellow 
altogether. 
10  "  Here  you  are  again,"  repeated  Mr.  Wegg,  musing. 
"  And  who  are  you  now  ?  Come !  I  '11  speculate  !  I  '11  in- 
vest a  bow  in  you." 

Which  Mr.  Wegg,  having  replaced  his  tin  box,  accord- 
ingly did,  as  he  rose  to  bait  his  gingerbread  trap  for  some 
15  other  devoted  infant.    The  salute  was  acknowledged  with  : 
"Morning,  sir  !    Morning!    Morning!" 

"  Good  morning  to  you,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Wegg. 

"  Do  you  remember  me,  then  ?  "  asked  his  new  acquaint- 
ance, stopping  in  his  amble  before  the  stall,  and  speaking 
20  in  a  pouncing  way,  though  with  great  good  humor. 

"  I  have  noticed  you  go  past  our  house,   sir,   several 
times  in  the  course  of  the  last  week  or  so." 

"  Our  house,"  repeated  the  other.    u  Meaning  —  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Wegg,  nodding  as  the  other  pointed  the 
25  clumsy  forefinger  of  his  right  glove  at  the  corner  house. 

"  Oh !    Now  what,"  pursued  the  old  fellow  in  an  in- 
quisitive manner,  carrying  his  knotted  stick  in  his  arm 


123 

as  if  it  had  been   a  baby.    "What   do  they  allow  you 
now  : 

"  It 's  job  work  that  I  do  for  our  house,"  returned  Silas, 
dryly ;  "it 's  not  yet  brought  to  an  exact  allowance." 

"  Oh,"  said  the  other,  and  ambled  off.    But  in  a  moment    5 
he  was  back  again  with  the  question,  "  How  did  you  get 
your  wooden  leg  ?  " 

Mr.  Wegg  replied  tartly  to  this  personal  inquiry,  "  In 
an  accident." 

"  Do  you  like  it?"  io 

••Well!  I  haven't  got  to  keep  it  warm,"  Mr.  Wegg 
made  answer,  in  a  sort  of  desperation  occasioned  by  the 
singularity  of  the  question. 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  of  the  name  of  Boffin  ?  "  asked  the 
other.  is 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Wegg,  who  was  growing  restive  under 
this  examination.  a  I  never  did  hear  of  the  name  of 
Boffin." 

"  Do  you  like  it  ?  " 

"  Why,   no,"   retorted  Mr.  Wegg,   again   approaching  20 
desperation,  "  I  can't  say  I  do." 

"  Why  don't  you  like  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  why  I  don't,"  retorted  Mr.  Wegg,  ap- 
proaching frenzy,  "  but  I  don't  at  all." 

"  Now,  I  '11  tell  you  something  that  will  make  you  sorry  25 
for  that,"  said  the  stranger,  smiling.   "  My  name  's  Boffin." 

"  I  can't  help  it,"  returned  Mr.  Wegg. 


124 

"But  there  's  another  chance  for  you,"  said  Mr.  Boffin, 
smiling  still.  "  Do  you  like  the  name  of  Nicodemus  ? 
Think  it  over,  —  Nick  or  Noddy." 

"  It  is  not,  sir,"  Mr.  Wegg  rejoined,  "  a  name  that  I 
5  could  wish  any  one  to  call  me  by ;  but  there  may  be  per- 
sons who  would  not  view  it  with  the  same  objections.  I 
don't  know  why,"  Mr.  Wegg  added,  anticipating  another 
question. 

"  Noddy  Boffin,"  said  that  gentleman.  "  That 's  my 
10  name.    Noddy  —  or  Nick  —  Boffin.    What 's  your  name  ?  " 

"  Silas  Wegg.  I  don't,"  said  Mr.  Wegg,  bestirring  him- 
self to  take  the  same  precaution  as  before,  —  "I  don't 
know  why  Silas,  and  I  don't  know  why  Wegg." 

"  Now,  Wegg,"  said  Mr.  Boffin,  "  I  want  to  make  a  sort 
15  of  offer  to  you.  Do  you  remember  when  you  first  saw  me  ?  " 

"  Let  me  think,"  said  Mr.  Wegg.  "  Was  it  on  a  Monday 
morning,  when  the  butcher  boy  bought  a  ballad  of  me  ?  " 

"  Right,  Wegg,  right !  But  he  bought  more  than  one." 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure,  sir ;  he  bought  several ;  and  wishing 
20  to  lay  out  his  money  for  the  best,  he  took  my  opinion  to 
guide  his  choice  and  we  went  over  the  collection  together. 
To  be  sure  we  did." 

"  What  do  you  think  I  was  doing,  Wegg  ?  " 

"I  should  judge,  sir,  that  you  might  have  been  glan- 
25  cing  down  the  street." 

"  No,  Wegg,  I  was  listening." 

"  Were  you,  indeed  ?"  said  Mr.  Wegg,  dubiously. 


125- 

"Not  in  a  dishonorable  way,  Wegg,  because  you  were 
singing  to  the  butcher ;  and  you  would  n't  sing  secrets  to 
a  butcher  in  the  street,  you  know." 

"  It  never  happened  that  I  did  so  yet,  to  the  best  of  my 
remembrance,"  said  Mr.  Wegg,  cautiously.    "  But  I  might    5 
do  it.    A  man  can't  say  what  he  might  wish  to  do  some 
day  or  another." 

"  Well,"  repeated  Boffin,  "  I  was  listening  to  you,  and  I 
thought  to  myself,  'Here  's  a  man  with  a  wooden  leg  —  a 
literary  man  with  — '  "  10 

u  N-not  exactly  so,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Wegg. 

"  Why,  you  know  every  one  of  these  songs  by  name  and 
by  tune,  and  if  you  want  to  read  or  to  sing  any  one  of 
them,  you  've  only  to  whip  on  your  spectacles  and  do  it," 
cried  Mr.  Boffin.    "  I  saw  you  at  it !  "  15 

"  Well,  sir,"  returned  Mr.  Wegg,  with  a  conscious  incli- 
nation of  the  head  ;  "  we  '11  say  '  literary,'  then." 

"A  literary  man  —  with  a  wooden  leg  —  and  all  print 
is  open  to  him !  "  pursued  Mr.  Boffin.    u  Then  consider 
this.    Here  am  I,  a  man  without  a  wooden  leg,  and  yet  all  20 
print  is  shut  to  me." 

"  Indeed,  sir  ?"  Mr.  Wegg  returned  with  increasing  self- 
complacency.    "  Education  neglected  ?  " 

"Neg  —  lected  ! "  repeated  Mr.  Boffin  with  emphasis. 
"  That's    no  word  for  it.    Now,  look  here.    I  'm  retired  25 
from  business.    I  want  some  reading,  and  how  can  I  get 
that  reading,  Wegg  ?    By,"  tapping  him  on  the  breast  with 


126 

the  head  of  his  thick  stick,  "  paying  a  man  truly  qualified 
to  do  it,  so  much  an  hour  to  come  and  do  it." 

"Flattered,  sir,  I  am  sure,"  said  Wegg,  beginning  to 
regard  himself  in  quite  a  new  light.    "This  is  the  offer 
5  you  mentioned,  sir  ?  " 

"Yes.   Do  you  like  it  ?  " 

"I  am  considering  it,  Mr.  Boffin.  Were  you  thinking 
at  all  of  poetry  ?  " 

"  Would  it  come  dearer  ?  "  Mr.  Boffin  asked. 
10      "It  would  come  dearer,"  Mr.  Wegg  returned.    "For 
when  a  person  comes  to  grind  off  poetry  night  after  night, 
it  is  but  right  he  should  expect  to  be  paid  for  its  weaken- 
ing effect  on  his  mind." 

"To  tell  you  the  truth,  Wegg,"  said  Boffin,  "I  wasn't 
15  thinking  of  poetry,  except  in  so  far  as  this :  If  you  were 
to  happen  now  and  then  to  give  us  one  of  your  ballads, 
why,  then  we  should  drop  into  poetry." 

"  I  follow  you,  sir,"  said  Wegg.    "  But  not  being  a  reg- 
ular musical  professional,  I  should  be  loath  to  engage  my- 
20  self  for  that ;  and  therefore,  when  I  dropped  into  poetry, 
I  should  ask  to  be  considered  in  the  light  of  a  friend." 

At  this  Mr.  Boffin's  eyes  sparkled,  and  he  shook  Silas 
earnestly  by  the  hand,  protesting  that  it  was  more  than 
he  could  have  asked,  and  that  he  took  it  very  kindly 
indeed.  Abridged 

prescription  :  continual  use  giving  a  legal  claim.  —  sterile  :  dry,  barren. 
—  devoted  :  doomed ;  fated  to  meet  misfortune. 


127 


x 


THE  HONEYBEE 


John  Burroughs 


John  Burroughs  (1837- 
of  nature. 


)  is  an  American  essayist  and  a  student 


There  is  not  one  of  the  creatures  with  which  man  has 
surrounded  himself  that  seems  so  much  like  a  product  of 
civilization  as  the  honeybee.  Indeed,  a  colony  of  bees,  with  5 
their  neatness  and  love  of  order,  their  division  of  labor, 
their  public  spiritedness,  their  thrift,  their  complex  econo- 
mies, and  their  inordinate  love  of  gain,  seems  as  far  re- 
moved from  a  condition  of  rude  nature  as  does  a  walled 
city  or  a  cathedral  town.  10 

Our  native  bee,  on  the  other  hand,  the  "burly,  dozing 
bumblebee,"  affects  one  more  like  the  rude,  untutored 
savage.  He  has  learned  nothing  from  experience.  He 
lives  from  hand  to  mouth.  He  luxuriates  in  time  of 
plenty  and  he  starves  in  time  of  scarcity-  He  lives  in  a  15 
rude  nest  or  in  a  hole  in  the  ground,  and  in  small  com- 
munities.   He  builds  a  few  deep  cells  or  sacks  in  which  he 


128 

stores  a  little  honey  and  beebread  for  his  young,  but  as  a 
worker  in  wax  he  is  of  the  most  primitive  and  awkward. 
The  Indian  regarded  the  honeybee  as  an  ill  omen.  She 
was  the  white  man's  fly.  In  fact,  she  was  the  epitome  of 
5  the  white  man  himself.  She  has  the  white  man's  craftiness, 
his  industry,  his  architectural  skill,  his  neatness  and  love 
of  system,  his  foresight  ;  and,  above  all,  his  eager,  miserly 
habits.  The  honeybee's  great  ambition  is  to  be  rich,  to  lay 
up  great  stores,  to  possess  the  sweet  of  every  flower  that 

10  blooms.  She  is  more  than  provident.  Enough  will  not 
satisfy  her ;  she  must  have  all  she  can  get  by  hook  or  by 
crook. 

She  comes  from  the  oldest  country,  Asia,  and  thrives 
best  in  the  most  fertile  and  long-settled  lands.    Yet  the 

15  fact  remains  that  the  honeybee  is  essentially  a  wild  crea- 
ture, and  never  has  been  and  cannot  be  thoroughly  domesti- 
cated. Its  proper  home  is  the  woods,  and  thither  every 
new  swarm  counts  on  going ;  and  thither  many  do  go,  in 
spite  of  the  care  and  watchfulness  of  the  beekeeper. 

20  Apparently  every  swarm  of  bees  before  it  leaves  the 
parent  hive  sends  out  exploring  parties  to  look  up  the 
future  home.  The  woods  and  groves  are  searched  through 
and  through,  and  no  doubt  the  privacy  of  many  a  squirrel 
and  many  a  wood  mouse  is  intruded  upon.    What  cozy 

25  nooks  and  retreats  they  do  spy  out,  so  much  more  attrac- 
tive than  the  painted  hive  in  the  garden,  so  much  cooler  in 
summer  and  so  much  warmer  in  winter ! 


129 

One  looks  upon  the  woods  with  a  new  interest  when  he 
suspects  they  hold  a  colony  of  bees.  What  a  pleasing  secret 
it  is  :  a  tree  with  a  heart  of  comb  honey,  a  decayed  oak  or 
maple  with  secret  chambers  where  lies  hidden  the  wealth 
of  ten  thousand  little  freebooters,  —  great  nuggets  and  5 
wedges  of  precious  ore  gathered  with  risk  and  labor  from 
every  field  and  wood  about. 

When  a  bee  brings  pollen  into  the  hive  he  advances  to 
the  cell  in  which  it  is  to  be  deposited  and  kicks  it  off  as 
one  might  his  overalls  or  rubber  boots,  making  one  foot  10 
help  the  other;  then  he  walks  off  without  ever  looking 
behind  him ;  another  bee,  one  of  the  indoor  hands,  comes 
along  and  rams  it  down  with  his  head  and  packs  it  into 
the  cell  as  the  dairymaid  packs  butter  into  a  firkin. 

The  life  of  a  swarm  of  bees  is  like  an  active  and  hazardous  15 
campaign  of  an  army  ;  the  ranks  are  being  continually  de- 
pleted, and  continually  recruited.    What  adventures  they 
have  by  flood  and  field,  and  what  hairbreadth  escapes !    A 
strong  swarm  during  the  honey  season  loses,  on  an  average, 
about  four  or  five  thousand  per  month,  or  one  hundred  20 
and  fifty  per  day.    They  are  overwhelmed  by  wind  and 
rain,  caught  by  spiders,  benumbed  by  cold,  crushed  by 
cattle,  drowned  in  rivers  and  ponds,  and  in  many  name- 
less ways  cut  off  or  disabled.    In  the  spring  the  principal 
mortality  is  from  the  cold.    As  the  sun  declines  they  get  25 
chilled  before  they  can  reach  home.    Many  fall  down  out- 
side the  hive,  unable  to  get  in  with  their  burden.   One  may 


130 

see  them  come  utterly  spent  and  drop  hopelessly  into  the 
grass  in  front  of  their  very  doors.  Before  they  can  rest 
the  cold  has  stiffened  them.  I  go  out  in  April  and  May 
and  pick  them  up  by  the  handful,  their  baskets  loaded 

5  with  pollen,  and  warm  them  in  the  sun  or  in  the  house, 
or  by  the  simple  warmth  of  my  hand,  until  they  can 
crawl  into  the  hive.  Heat  is  their  life,  and  an  apparently 
lifeless  bee  may  be  revived  by  warming  him. 

It  is  amusing  to  see  them  come  hurrying  home  when 

10  there  is  a  thunderstorm  approaching.  They  come  piling  in 
till  the  rain  is  upon  them.  Those  that  are  overtaken  by 
the  storm  doubtless  weather  it  as  best  they  can  in  the  shel- 
tering trees  and  grass.  It  is  not  probable  that  a  bee  ever 
gets  lost  by  wandering  into  strange  and  unknown  parts. 

15  With  their  myriad  eyes  they  see  everything ;  and  then 
their  sense  of  locality  is  very  acute  —  is,  indeed,  one  of 
their  ruling  traits.  When  a  bee  marks  the  place  of  his 
hive,  or  of  a  bit  of  good  pasturage  in  the  fields  or  swamps, 
he  returns  to  it  as  unerringly  as  fate. 

20  Honey  was  a  much  more  important  article  of  food  with 
the  ancients  than  it  is  with  us.  As  they  appear  to  have 
been  unacquainted  with  sugar,  honey,  no  doubt,  stood  them 
instead.  It  is  too  rank  and  pungent  for  the  modern  taste ; 
it  soon  cloys  upon  the  palate.    It  demands  the  appetite  of 

25  youth,  and  the  strong,  robust  digestion  of  people  who 
live  much  in  the  open  air.  It  is  a  more  wholesome  food 
than  sugar,  and  modern  confectionery  is  poison  beside  it. 


131 

Besides  grape  sugar,  honey  contains  manna,  mucilage, 
pollen,  acid,  and  other  vegetable  odoriferous  substances 
and  juices.  It  is  a  sugar  with  a  kind  of  wild  natural  bread 
added.  The  manna  of  itself  is  both  food  and  medicine, 
and  the  pungent  vegetable  extracts  have  rare  virtues.  5 

The  Emperor  Augustus  one  day  inquired  of  a  centena- 
rian how  he  had  kept  his  vigor  of  mind  and  body  so  long  ; 
to  which  the  veteran  replied  that  it  was  by  "  oil  without 
and  honey  within." 

Hence  it  is  not  without  reason  that  with  the  ancients  a  10 
land  flowing  with  milk  and  honey  should  mean  a  land 
abounding  in  all  good  things  ;  and  the  queen  in  the  nursery 
rhyme,  who  lingered  in  the  kitchen  to  eat  "  bread  and 
honey,"  while  the  •"  king  was  in  the  parlor  counting  out 
his  money,"  was  doing  a  very  sensible  thing.  15 

Italy  and  Greece,  in  fact  all  the  Mediterranean  countries, 
appear  to  have  been  famous  lands  for  honey.  Mount  Hy- 
mettus,  Mount  Hybla,  and  Mount  Ida  produced  what  may 
be  called  the  classic  honey  of  antiquity,  an  article  doubt- 
less in  no  wise  superior  to  our  best  products.  20 

bumblebee:  also  called  humblebee.  See  Emerson's  poem,  p.  132. — 
beebread  :  flower  pollen,  which  forms  the  food  of  the  young  bees. — epit- 
ome (e  pit'  o  me)  :  a  compact  representation  ;  a  work  reduced  to  a  small 
size.  —  freebooters  :  robbers.  —  stood :  served.  —  manna  :  sweetish  yellow 
flakes  which  exude  from  some  trees  and  shrubs.  —  centenarian :  one  who 
is  a  hundred  years  old.  —  land  flowing  with  milk  and  honey:  see  Exodus 

iii.  8 Hymettus  (hi  mgt'tus)  :  a  mountain  in  Greece.  —  Hybla  (hlb'la)  : 

Hybla  was  in  Sicily.  — Ida :  a  mountain  in  Asia  Minor. 


132 
THE  HUMBLEBEE 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson 

Burly,  dozing  humblebee, 
Where  thou  art  is  clime  for  me. 
Let  them  sail  for  Porto  Rique, 
Far-off  heats  through  seas  to  seek ; 

5  I  will  follow  thee  alone, 

Thou  animated  torrid  zone ! 
Zigzag  steerer,  desert  cheerer, 
Let  me  chase  thy  waving  lines ; 
Keep  me  nearer,  me  thy  hearer, 

10  Singing  over  shrubs  and  vines. 

Hot  midsummer's  petted  crone, 
Sweet  to  me  thy  drowsy  tone 
Tells  of  countless  sunny  hours, 
Long  days,  and  solid  banks  of  flowers ; 
15  Of  gulfs  of  sweetness,  without  bound, 

In  Indian  wildernesses  found ; 
Of  Syrian  peace,  immortal  leisure, 
Firmest  cheer,  and  birdlike  pleasure. 

Aught  unsavory  or  unclean, 
20  Hath  my  insect  never  seen ; 

But  violets  and  bilberry  bells, 
Maple  sap  and  daffodils, 


133 

Grass  with  green  flag  half-mast  high, 

Succory  to  match  the  sky, 

Columbine  with  horn  of  honey, 

Scented  fern,  and  agrimony, 

Clover,  catchfly,  adder' s-tongue,  5 

And  brier  roses,  dwelt  among ; 

All  beside  was  unknown  waste, 

All  was  picture  as  he  passed. 

Wiser  far  than  human  seer. 

Yellow-breeched  philosopher !  10 

Seeing  only  what  is  fair, 

Sipping  only  what  is  sweet, 

Thou  dost  mock  at  fate  and  care, 

Leave  the  chaff,  and  take  the  wheat. 

When  the  fierce  northwestern  blast  15 

Cools  sea  and  land  so  far  and  fast, 

Thou  already  slumberest  deep ; 

Woe  and  want  thou  canst  outsleep ; 

Want  and  woe,  which  torture  us, 

Thy  sleep  makes  ridiculous.  20 

clime :  the  region.  —  Porto  Rique :  Porto  Rico  is  a  famous  winter  re- 
sort. —  Syrian  peace :  the  ideal  of  the  philosophers  of  India  and  Syria  is 
a  state  of  idleness  and  blissful  repose.  —  leisure :  the  poet  makes  this  word 
rhyme  with  pleasure,  but  the  better  usage  is  le'zhur. —  biTberry  bells: 
huckleberry  blossoms. — suc'cory :  a  wayside  plant  bearing  a  blue  flower. 
—  ag'rimony  :  a  common  herb  with  a  spike  of  yellow  flowers.  — thy  sleep  : 
bees  are  usually  torpid  throughout  the  winter. 


134 
THE  LANTERN  BEARERS 

Eobert  Louis  Stevenson 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson  was  born  in  1850  at  Edinburgh,  Scotland, 
within  sight  of  the  great  Edinburgh  Castle.  He  died  in  Samoa  in  1894. 
His  wonderful  gifts  as  a  writer  of  fiction,  essays,  and  poems  place  him 
among  the  foremost  of  modern  authors.  Of  his  many  novels,  Dr.  Jekyll 
5  and  Mr.  Hyde  is  the  most  widely  known.  Some  of  his  other  works  are 
Treasure  Island,  Kidnapped,  Across  the  Plains,  and  A  Child's  Garden  of 
Verses.    The  following  pages  are  from  one  of  his  essays. 

Toward  the  end  of  September,  when  school  time  was 
drawing  near  and  the    nights   were    already  black,   we 

10  would  begin  to  sally  from  our  respective  villas,  each 
equipped  with  a  tin  bull's-eye  lantern.  The  thing  was  so 
well  known  that  it  had  worn  a  rut  in  the  commerce  of 
Great  Britain ;  and  the  grocers,  about  the  due  time,  began 
to  garnish  their  windows  with  our  particular  brand  of 

15  luminary. 

We  wore  them  buckled  to  the  waist  upon  a  cricket  belt, 
and  over  them,  such  was  the  rigor  of  the  game,  a  buttoned 
topcoat.  They  smelled  noisomely  of  blistered  tin  ;  they 
never  burned  aright,  though  they  would  always  burn  our 

20  fingers ;  their  use  was  naught  ;  the  pleasure  of  them 
merely  fanciful ;  and  yet  a  boy  with  a  bull's-eye  under 
his  topcoat  asked  for  nothing  more. 

The  fishermen  used  lanterns  about  their  boats,  and  it 
was  from  them,  I  suppose,  that  we  had  got  the  hint  ;  but 


135 

theirs  were  not  bull's-eyes,  nor  did  we  play  at  being  fish- 
ermen. The  police  carried  them  at  their  belts,  and  we  had 
plainly  copied  them  in  that ;  yet  we  did  not  pretend  to  be 
policemen.  Burglars,-indeed,  we  may  have  had  some  haunt- 
ing thoughts  of ;  and  we  had  certainly  an  eye  to  past  ages 
when  lanterns  were  more  common,  and  to  certain  story- 
books in  which  we  found  them  to  figure  very  largely.    But 


take  it  for  all  in  all,  the  pleasure  of  the  thing  was  substan- 
tive ;  and  to  be  a  boy  with  a  bull's-eye  under  his  topcoat 
was  good  enough  for  us. 

When  two  of  these  asses  met  there  would  be  an  anxious  10 
"Have  you  got  your  lantern?"  and  a  gratified  "Yes!" 
This  was  the  shibboleth,  and  very  needful,  too ;  for  as  it 
was  the  rule  to  keep  our  glory  contained,  none  could  recog- 
nize a  lantern  bearer,  unless  by  the  smell. 


136 

Four  or  five  would  sometimes  climb  into  a  ten-man 
lugger,  or  choose  out  some  hollow  of  the  links  where  the 
wind  might  whistle  overhead.  There  the  coats  would  be 
unbuttoned   and  the  bull's-eyes  discovered  ;   and  in  the 

5  checkering  glimmer,  under  the  huge  windy  hall  of  the 
night,  and  cheered  by  a  rich  stream  of  toasting  tinware, 
these  fortunate  young  gentlemen  would  crouch  together  in 
the  cold  sand  of  the  links  or  on  the  scaly  bilges  of  the  fish- 
ing boat  and  delight  themselves  with  inappropriate  talk. 

10  The  talk  was  but  a  condiment ;  and  these  gatherings  them- 
selves only  accidents  in  the  career  of  the  lantern  bearer. 
The  essence  of  this  bliss  was  to  walk  by  yourself  in  the 
black  night ;  the  slide  shut,  the  topcoat  buttoned ;  not  a 
ray  escaping,  whether  to  conduct  your  footsteps  or  to 

is  make  your  glory  public ;  a  mere  pillar  of  darkness  in  the 
dark  ;  and  all  the  while,  deep  down  in  the  privacy  of  your 
fool's  heart,  to  know  you  had  a  bull's-eye  at  your  belt,  and 
to  exult  and  sing  over  the  knowledge. 

school  time :  in  Scotland,  as  a  rule,  school  begins  later  in  the  autumn 
than  is  customary  in  America.  The  summer  vacation  in  Edinburgh  and 
its  neighborhood,  where  Stevenson  spent  his  boyhood,  is  in  August  and 
September.  —  the  rigor  of  the  game  :  a  familiar  phrase  from  Charles  Lamb's 
essay,  "Mrs.  Battle's  Opinions  on  Whist."  —  substantive  :  dependent  upon 
itself. —  shibboleth  :  a  test  word  or  sign  (see  Judges  xii.  4-6).  —  contained  : 
hidden,  restrained.  —  lugger  :  a  small  fishing-vessel  with  simple  rigging.  — 
links :  the  flat  sands  of  the  seashore.  —  bilges :  the  broadest  part  of  a 
vessel's  hull condiment :  something  used  to  give  relish  to  food  ;  season- 
ing. —  accidents  :  happenings  ;  unexpected  events. 


137 
DAFFODILS 

William  Wordsworth 

William  Wordsworth  (1770-1850)  was  a  celebrated  English  poet  who 
was  made  poet  laureate  in  1843.  He  was  keenly  sensitive  to  natural  beauty, 
and  some  of  his  finest  poems  were  written  on  simple  scenes  in  rural 
England. 

I  wandered  lonely  as  a  cloud  5 

That  floats  on  high  o'er  vales  and  hills, 

When  all  at  once  I  saw  a  crowd, 

A  host,  of  golden  daffodils, 

Beside  the  lake,  beneath  the  trees, 

Fluttering  and  dancing  in  the  breeze.  10 

Continuous  as  the  stars  that  shine 

And  twinkle  on  the  milky  way, 

They  stretched  in  never-ending  line 

Along  the  margin  of  a  bay : 

Ten  thousand  saw  I  at  a  glance,  15 

Tossing  their  heads  in  sprightly  dance. 

The  waves  beside  them  danced ;  but  they 

Outdid  the  sparkling  waves  in  glee  : 

A  poet  could  not  but  be  gay 

In  such  a  jocund  company  :  20 

I  gazed  —  and  gazed  —  but  little  thought 

What  wealth  the  show  to  me  had  brought ; 


138 

For  oft,  when  on  my  couch  I  lie 
In  vacant  or  in  pensive  mood, 


They  flash  upon  that  inward  eye 
Which  is  the  bliss  of  solitude ; 
And  then  my  heart  with  pleasure  fills, 
And  dances  with  the  daffodils. 


10 


A  thing  of  beauty  is  a  joy  forever  : 
Its  loveliness  increases  ;  it  will  never 
Pass  into  nothingness  ;  but  still  will  keep 
A  bower  quiet  for  us,  and  a  sleep 
Full  of  sweet  dreams  and  health  and 
quiet  breathing. 


John  Keats 


139 
A  MEMOKY  OP  MY  CHILDHOOD 

Pierre  Loti 

Pierre  Loti  (pi  er  16  te)  is  the  pen  name  of  Louis  Marie  Julien  Viaud 
(vyo),  a  French  novelist  of  poetic  temperament.  He  was  born  in  1850. 
The  following  selection  is  translated  from  his  Story  of  a  Child. 

My  next  impression  was  one  which  I  will  try  to  record, 
—  an  impression  of  summer,  of  broad  sunshine,  and  of   5 
nature,  and  of  a  delicious  panic  at  finding  myself  alone  in 
the  deep  June  grass  taller  than  my  head. 

It  happened  at  a  country  house  which,  at  a  later  date, 
played  an  important  part  in  my  child  life.  It  belonged  to 
some  very  old  friends  of  our  family,  who  were  our  neigh-  10 
bors  in  town,  their  house  almost  touching  ours.  The  day 
of  which  I  am  about  to  speak  was  certainly  the  first  which 
I  had  spent  there  as  a  little  creature  capable  of  thought, 
of  grief,  of  dreams. 

I  have  forgotten  the  beginning, — the  departure,  the  jour-  15 
ney,  and  the  arrival.  But  I  can  see  myself  one  very  hot 
afternoon,  see  myself  very  happy  alone  in  the  neglected  old 
garden,  shut  in  by  gray  walls  from  the  woods,  sandy 
heaths,  and  stony  commons  that  surrounded  it.  For  me, 
a  town-bred  child,  this  spacious  garden,  never  kept  up,  20 
where  the  fruit  trees  were  perishing  of  old  age,  was  as 
full  of  surprises  and  mysteries  as  the  virgin  forest. 
Having,  no  doubt,  stepped  over  a  high  box  edging,  I  had 


140 

lost  myself  in  the  middle  of  one  of  the  uncultured  beds 
far  from  the  house,  among  I  know  not  what  wayward 
growths  —  asparagus  run  to  seed,  I  dare  say,  tangled  with 
wild  creepers.  There  I  had  crouched  down  after  the  man- 
5  ner  of  little  children,  to  bury  myself  in  all  this,  which 
was  far  above  my  head  even  when  I  stood  up.  And  I 
kept  very  still,  with  eyes  dilated  and  my  mind  keenly 
attentive,  at  once  alarmed  and  delighted.  What  I  felt  in 
the  presence  of  these  new  things  was,  even  then,  less  aston- 

10  ishment  than  recognition ;  that  lavish  greenery  which 
closed  in  upon  me  I  knew  was  everywhere,  in  the  remotest 
depths  of  the  unseen  country.  It  frightened  and  yet  it  at- 
tracted me ;  and  in  order  to  stay  there  as  long  as  possible 
without  being  sought  out,  I  hid  myself  more  completely. 

15  But  suddenly  I  heard  myself  called  :  "  Pierre  !  Pierre  ! 
My  little  Pierrot !  "  And  without  replying,  I  made  haste 
to  lie  down  flat  on  the  earth  under  the  weeds  and  the 
finely  cut  leaves  of  the  asparagus  branches. 

Again,  "  Pierre  !  Pierre  !  "  It  was  Lucette.    I  knew  her 

20  voice,  and  I  even  understood  from  her  laughing  tone 
that  she  spied  me  in  my  green  lurking  place.  But  I  could 
not  see  her.  I  looked  about  on  all  sides,  in  vain.  No  one ! 
Still  she  called  me  with  shouts  of  laughter,  her  voice  more 
and  more  full  of  fun.    Where  in  the  world  could  she  be  ? 

25  Ah  !  Up  there,  high  in  the  air,  perched  in  the  fork  of  a 
strangely  twisted  tree,  which  had  what  looked  like  a  hoary 
head  of  lichen. 


141 


Then  1  got  up,  greatly  chagrined  at  having  been  thus 
discovered.  And  as  I  rose  I  perceived  from  afar,  above 
the  tangle  of  wild  plants,  a  corner  of  the  old  ivy-crowned 
walls  which  surrounded  the  garden.    These  walls  were  to 


become  very  familiar  to  me  as  time  went  on,  for  during  my 
half  holidays  from  school  I  have  spent  many  an  hour 
perched  on  the  top,  looking  out  over  the  peaceful,  pastoral 
landscape,  dreaming,  to  the  chirp  of  the  grasshoppers,  of 
yet  more  sunny  spots  in  distant  lands. 

virgin  ■  unspoiled.  — Pierrot  (pi  er  r6')  :  the  diminutive  of  Pierre ;  <*  little 
Peter."  —  lichen  (li'ken)  :  a  species  of  plant  growing  on  rocks  and  tree 
trunks.  —  chagrined  (sha  grind')  :  mortified. 


142 


THE  NIGHT  BEFORE  THANKSGIVING  — I 

Sarah  Orne  Jewett 

Sarah  Orne   Jewett  (1849-1909)   was  an  American  writer  whose 
stories  of  New  England  life  have  much  charm. 

Poor  old  Mary  Ann  Robb  sat  at  her  window  on  the 
afternoon  before  Thanksgiving  and  felt  herself  poor  and 
5  sorrowful  indeed.  Across  the  frozen  road  she  looked  east- 
ward over  a  great  stretch  of  meadow  land,  brown  and 
wind-swept  and  crossed  by  icy  ditches.  It  seemed  to  her 
as  if  before  this,  in  all  the  troubles  that  she  had  known  and 
carried,  there  had  always  been  some  hope  to  hold ;  as  if 

10  she  had  never  looked  poverty  full  in  the  face  and  seen  its 
cold  and  pitiless  frown  before.  She  looked  anxiously  down 
the  road,  with  a  horrible  shrinking  and  dread  at  the  thought 
of  being  asked,  out  of  pity,  to  join  in  some  Thanksgiving 
feast,  but  there  was  nobody  coming  with  gifts  in  hand. 

15  Once  she  had  been  full  of  love  for  such  days,  whether  at 

home  or  abroad,  but  something  chilled  her  very  heart  now. 

Her  nearest  neighbor  had  been  foremost  of  those  who 

wished  her  to  go  to  the  town  farm,  and  he  had  said  more 

than  once  that  it  was  the  only  sensible  thing.    But  John 

20  Mander  was  waiting  impatiently  to  get  her  tiny  farm  into 
his  own  hands ;  he  had  advanced  some  money  upon  it  in 
her  extremity,  and  pretended  that  there  was  still  a  debt 
after  he  cleared  her  wood  lot  to  pay  himself  back.    He 


143 

would  plow  over  the  graves  in  the  field  corner  and  fell  the 
great  elms,  and  waited  now  like  a  spider  for  his  poor  prey. 
He  often  reproached  her  for  being  too  generous  to  worth- 
less people  in  the  past  and  coming  to  be  a  charge  to  others 
now.  Oh,  if  she  could  only  die  in  her  own  house  and  not  5 
suffer  the  pain  of  homelessness  and  dependence ! 

It  was  just  at  sunset,  and  as  she  looked  out  hopelessly 
across  the  gray  fields  there  was  a  sudden  gleam  of  light 
far  away  on  the  low  hills  beyond ;  the  clouds  opened  in  the 
west  and  let  the  sunshine  through.  One  lovely  ray  shot  10 
swift  as  an  arrow  and  brightened  a  far  cold  hillside  where 
it  fell,  and  at  the  same  moment  a  sudden  gleam  of  hope 
brightened  the  winter  landscape  of  her  heart. 

"  There  was  Johnny  Harris,"  said  Mary  Ann  Robb  softly. 
"  He  was  a  soldier's  son,  left  an  orphan  and  distressed.   Old  15 
John  Mander  scolded,  but  I  could  n't  see  the  poor  boy  in 
want.  I  kept  him  that  year  after  he  got  hurt,  spite  of  what 
anybody  said,  and  he  helped  me  the  little  he  could.    He 
said  I  was  the  only  mother  he  'd  ever  had.   4 1  'm  going  out 
West,  Mother  Robb,'  says  he.  '  I  shan't  come  back  till  I  get  20 
rich' ;  and  then  he  'd  look  at  me  and  laugh,  so  pleasant  and 
boyish.    He  was  n't  one  that  liked  to  write.  I  don't  think 
he  was  doing  very  well  when  I  heard,  —  there,  it's  'most 
four  years  ago  now.    I  always  thought  if  he  got  sick  I 
should  have  a  good  home  for  him  to  come  to.  There 's  poor  25 
Ezra  Blake,  the  deaf  one,  too;  he  won't  have  any  place 
to  welcome  him," 


144 

The  light  faded  out  of  doors,  and  again  Mrs.  Robb's 
trouble  stood  before  her.  Yet  it  was  not  so  dark  as  it  bad 
been  in  her  sad  heart.  She  still  sat  by  her  window,  hop- 
ing now,  in  spite  of  herself,  instead  of  fearing;  and  a 
5  curious  feeling  of  nearness  and  expectancy  made  her  feel 
not  so  much  light-hearted  as  light-headed. 

"  I  feel  just  as  if  something  was  going  to  happen,"  she 
said.  "  Poor  Johnny  Harris  !  Perhaps  he's  thinking  of  me, 
if  he 's  alive." 

10  It  was  dark  now,  and  there  were  tiny  clicks  against  the 
window.  It  was  beginning  to  snow  and  the  great  elms 
creaked  in  the  rising  wind  overhead. 

A  dead  limb  of  one  of  the  old  trees  had  fallen  that  au- 
tumn, and  poor  firewood  as  it  might  be,  it  was  Mrs.  Robb's 

15  own,  and  she  had  burned  it  most  thankfully.  There  was 
only  a  small  armful  left,  but  at  least  she  could  have  tbe 
luxury  of  a  fire.  She  had  a  feeling  that  it  was  her  last 
night  at  home,  and  with  strange  recklessness  began  to  fill 
the  stove  as  she  used  to  do  in  better  days. 

20  "  It  '11  get  me  good  and  warm,"  she  said,  still  talking  to 
herself,  as  lonely  people  do.  "  And  I  '11  go  to  bed  early. 
It 's  coming  on  to  storm." 

The  snow  clicked  faster  and  faster  against  the  window, 
and  she  sat  alone  thinking  in  the  dark.    She  drew  a  little 

25  nearer  to  the  fire,  and  laid  her  head  back  drowsily  in  the 
old  rocking-chair. 


145 


THE  NIGHT  BEFORE  THANKSGIVING  —  II 

It  seemed  only  a  moment  before  there  was  a  loud 
knocking,  and  somebody  lifted  the  latch  of  the  door. 
The  fire  shone  bright  through  the  front  of  the  stove  and 
made  a  little  light  in  the  room,  but  Mary  Ann  Robb  waked 
up  frightened  and  bewildered.  5 

"  Who 's  there  ?"  she  called,  as  she  found  her  crutch  and 
went  to  the  door.  She  was  only  conscious  of  her  one  great 
fear. 

"  They  've  come  to  take  me  to  the  poorhouse  ! "  she  said, 
and  burst  into  tears.  10 

There  was  a  tall  man,  not  John  Mander,  who  seemed 
to  fill  the  narrow  doorway. 

"  Come,  let  me  in  !  "  he  said  gayly.  "  It 's  a  cold  night. 
You  did  n't  expect  me,  did  you,  Mother  Robb  ?  " 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  she  faltered,  stepping  back  as  he  came  15 
in  and  dropping  her  crutch.  "  I  was  dreaming.  Oh,  there! 
what  was  I  saying  ?   I  've  made  some  mistake." 

Yes,  this  was  the  man  who  kept  the  poorhouse,  and 
she  would  go  without  complaint ;  they  might  have  given 
her  notice,  but  she  must  not  fret.  20 

"  Sit  down,  sir,  "  she  said,  turning  toward  him  with 
touching  patience.  "  You  '11  have  to  give  me  a  little  time. 
If  I  'd  been  notified,  I  would  n't  have  kept  you  waiting  a 
minute  this  stormy  night." 

It  was  not  the  keeper  of  the  poorhouse.   The  man  by  the  25 


146 


door  took  one  step  forward  and  pnt  his  arm  round  her  and 
kissed  her.  "  What  are  you  talking  about  ? "  said  John 
Harris.  "  You  make  me  feel  like  a  stranger.  I  've  come  all 
the  way  from  Dakota  to  spend  Thanksgiving.   All  sorts  of 


5  things  are  out  here  in  the  wagon,  and  there 's  a  man  to  help 
get  them  in.  Why,  don't  cry  so.  Mother  Robb  !  I  thought 
you'd  have  a  great  laugh  if  I  surprised  you.  Don't  you 
remember  I  always  said  I  should  come  ?  " 

It  was  John  Harris  indeed.    The  poor  soul  could  say 

10  nothing.  She  felt  now  as  if  her  heart  was  going  to  break 
with  joy.  He  left  her  in  the  rocking-chair  and  came  and 
went  in  his  old  boyish  way,  bringing  in  the  store  of  gifts  and 
provisions.  It  was  better  than  any  dream.  He  laughed 
and  talked,  and  went  out  to  send  the  man  to  bring  a 

15  wagonful  of  wood,  and  came  in  himself  laden  with  pieces 
of  the  nearest  fence  to  keep  the  fire  going  in  the  mean- 
time.   They  must   cook  the  beefsteak   for  supper  right 


147 

away ;  they  must  find  the  pound  of  tea  among  all  the  other 
bundles;  they  must  get  good  fires  started  in  both  the  cold 
bedrooms.  Why.  Mother  Robb  did  n't  seem  to  be  ready  for 
company  from  tbe  West !  The  great,  cheerful  fellow  hur- 
ried about  the  tiny  house,  and  the  little  old  woman  limped  5 
after  him,  forgetting  everything  but  hospitality.  Had  not 
she  a  house  for  John  to  come  to  ?  Were  not  her  old  chairs 
and  tables  in  their  places  still  ?  And  he  remembered 
everything  and  kissed  her  as  they  stood  before  the  fire. 
He  had  found  plenty  of  hard  times,  but  luck  had  come  at  10 
last.  This  was  the  end  of  a  great  year.  John  was  afraid 
he  should  cry  himself  when  he  found  out  how  bad  things 
had  been;  and  they  sat  down  to  supper  together  just  as 
they  used  to  do  when  he  was  a  homeless  orphan  boy  whom 
nobody  else  wanted  in  winter  weather  while  he  was  crip-  15 
pled  and  could  not  work.  She  could  not  be  kinder  now 
than  she  was  then,  but  she  looked  so  poor  and  old !  He 
saw  her  taste  her  cup  of  tea  and  set  it  down  again  with  a 
trembling  hand  and  a  look  at  him. 

"I  wanted  to  come  myself,  instead  of  writing,"  he  blus-  20 
tered,  wiping  his  eyes  and  trying  to  laugh.    "  And  you  're 
going  to  have  everything  you  need  to  make  you  comfort- 
able as  long  as  you  live,  Mother  Robb." 

She  looked  at  him  again  and  nodded,  but  she  did  not 
even  try  to  speak.     There  was  a  good  hot  supper  ready  25 
and  a  happy  guest  had  come;    it  was  the  night  before 
Thanksgiving. 


148 
AT  TABLE  — I 

Francois  Coppee 

Francois  Coppee,  a  French  author  and  poet,  was  born  in  1842  ;  he  died 
in  1908. 

When  the  steward  —  and  what  an  imposing  steward  he 
was,  with  his  ample  figure,  his  dignified,  ruddy  countenance, 
5  and  his  white  whiskers !  —  when  he  flung  open  the  door 
of  the  drawing-room  and  announced  in  his  sonorous  yet  re- 
spectful voice  that  dinner  was  served,  the  company  filed 
out  in  an  orderly  and  quiet  procession. 

The  table  fairly  glittered.    There  were  fourteen  guests 

10  —  no  more ;  the  young  women  in  full  evening  dress  and 
the  men  decorated  with  orders  in  honor  of  the  distinguished 
visitor  who  sat  at  the  right  of  the  hostess. 

The  company  represented  the  aristocracy  of  family  or 
of  merit,  and  an  atmosphere  of  well-being  filled  the  lofty 

15  room,  so  comfortably  warmed  and  so  magnificently  deco- 
rated. The  service  was  noiseless.  The  servants  seemed  to 
glide  over  the  thick  carpet,  and  the  butler's  tone  was  as 
confidential  as  if  he  were  revealing  some  vitally  important 
secret. 

20  How  courteous  and  considerate  were  these  well-bred,  low- 
voiced  guests !  What  friendliness  marked  their  smiles  !  At 
first,  no  doubt,  they  spoke  in  commonplaces,  but  before 
long  their  wit  and  intelligence  came  into  play.    Each  of 


149      ' 

these  men  was  remarkable  in  his  own  way,  and  all  of  them 
were  rich  in  experience  and  in  memories.  A  famous  traveler 
with  bronzed  face,  recently  returned  from  desert  wilds,  told 
his  neighbors  at  the  table  of  an  elephant  hunt.  He  spoke 
quietly  without  boasting,  as  if  he  were  telling  some  ordi-  5 
nary  adventure.  Farther  on,  the  white  hair  and  fine  pro- 
file of  a  famous  scholar  bent  toward  his  hostess,  whose 
charming  face  was  full  of  laughter  and  interest. 

At  the  lower  end  of  the  table  sat  a  man  still  young,  the 
most  obscure  of  all  those  who  gathered  there,  —  a  man  of  10 
imagination  and  fancy,  one  of  those  dreamers  who  are 
half  philosopher,  half  poet.    Admitted  into  this  group  by 
reason  of  his  fame  as  an  artist,  a  gentleman  by  nature  but 
without  vanity,  a  man  of  the  people  and  never  forgetting 
it,  he  enjoyed  with  full  appreciation  this  flower  of  civili-  15 
zation  which   calls   itself   good   society.    He   felt,    more 
keenly  than  many  others  would  have  done,  how  rare  and 
beautiful  was  all  that  surrounded  him,  —  the  charm  of 
the  women,  the  swift  intelligence  of  the  men,  the  shining 
table,  the  luxurious  room  ;  and  he  was  glad  that  things  20 
so  good  and  so  harmonious  existed.    He  was  filled  with 
hopefulness  and  cheer.    He  found  it  comforting  to  reflect 
that  sometimes  in  this  world  of  ours  men  and  women 
might  be  so  happy.  What  a  lovely  fancy  to  believe  that  to 
these  people  life  was  merciful ;  that  they  always  kept  the  25 
gay  and  gentle  faces  they  now  wore,  and  that  they  had 
no  dishonorable  weaknesses  or  selfish  sins! 


150 


AT  TABLE  — II 

The  dreamer  was  at  this  point  in  his  reflections  when 
the  steward,  the  superb  steward,  appeared,  bearing  upon  a 
huge  silver  platter  a  fish  of  marvelous  size,  such  as  one  sees 
only  in  pictures  or  in  shop  windows.    When  it  was  served 

5  and  the  dreamer  found  a  piece  before  him  upon  his  plate, 
a  slight  odor  of  the  sea  suddenly  recalled  to  his  mind  a 
scene  on  the  coast  of  Brittany. 

He  had  lingered  there,  an  autumn  or  two  before,  until 
he  had  been  overtaken  by  the  equinoctial  storm.    He  called 

10  to  mind  the  terrible  night  when  the  fishing  boats  could  not 
land,  —  the  night  that  he  had  spent  upon  the  breakwater, 
surrounded  by  a  throng  of  frightened  women,  standing  in 
the  spray,  which  ran  in  streams  down  his  face,  and  at  the 
mercy  of  a  wind  that  seemed  to  be  trying  to  drag  off  his 

15  clothes.  What  a  life  these  fishermen  led !  He  saw  again 
the  little  church,  high  on  the  cliff  and  painted  white  to 
serve  as  a  beacon  to  the  ships ;  and  in  the  cemetery  the 
headstones  repeating  so  often  this  inscription,  Drowned 
at  Sea. 

20  The  great  fish  had  a  delicate  and  savory  taste,  but  the 
dreamer  had  lost  his  appetite.  He  was  still  thinking  of 
the  poor  Bretons  who  had  perhaps  caught  this  very  turbot. 
He  shuddered  as  he  thought. 

But  the  servants  were  already  removing  the  plates,  and 

25  the  guests  were  chatting  with  even  greater  fluency  and 


151 

ease.    Their  light  laughter  ran  up  and  down  the  table. 
What  a  charming  company  ! 

Then  the  dreamer  was  seized  with  an  overpowering  sad- 
ness, for  the  price  of  all  this  comfort  and  luxury  began  to 
torment  his  imagination.  5 

In  order  that  these  men  and  women  in  cold  December 
may  wear  dress  coats  and  lace  gowns,  the  heat  of  the  room 
is  like  that  of  a  morning  in  spring.  But  who  has  furnished 
the  fuel?  The  underground  worker,  the  prisoner  of  the 
mines.  How  exquisitely  fair  is  the  complexion  of  that  10 
young  woman  in  rose-colored  satin !  But  who  has  woven 
the  satin  ?  The  human  spider  of  Lyons,  —  the  silk  weaver 
in  his  unwholesome  den.  She  wears  in  her  dainty  ears 
two  splendid  pearls.  What  wonderful  transparency  !  What 
brilliancy  of  color  and  perfection  of  form  !  Cleopatra's  15 
famous  pearl  was  no  purer  than  these.  But  does  she  know, 
this  young  beauty,  that  in  the  pearl  fisheries  of  the  East 
the  Indian  diver  plunges  heroically  into  seventy  feet  of 
water,  one  foot  in  the  heavy  stone  stirrup  that  is  to  drag 
him  to  the  bottom,  and  a  knife  in  his  hand  to  guard  him  20 
from  the  sharks  ? 

But,  after  all,  what  is  the  use  of  thinking  about  it  ? 
The  air  of  the  room  is  warm  and  sweet.  Every  one  is  con- 
tented. Why  should  we  distress  ourselves  about  a  miner 
who  works  fifty  feet  below  the  ground,  or  a  sickly  weaver,  25 
or  a  savage  who  leaps  into  the  sea  and  perhaps  reddens  it 
with  his  blood  ? 


152 


AT  TABLE  — III 

However,  the  dreamer  is  pursued  by  his  fancy.  With- 
out thinking  what  he  is  doing,  he  has  crumbled  a  bit  of 
bread  which  was  lying  near  his  plate.  It  is  a  very  slight 
and  insignificant  part  of  such  a  dinner  as  this,  but  he 

5  thinks  of  the  great  lady  who  said  when  her  poor  people 
were  starving :  "  Why  do  they  cry  for  bread  ?  Let  them 
eat  cake ! "  Yes,  it  is  only  a  piece  of  bread,  but  in  order 
that  it  may  be  here,  upon  the  rich  man's  table,  many  have 
toiled  and  suffered.    The  farmer  has  sowed  and  reaped. 

10  He  has  pushed  his  plow  or  driven  his  harrow  through  the 
heavy  soil  under  the  cold  needles  of  the  autumn  rain ;  he 
has  waked  when  it  thundered  in  the  night,  full  of  terror 
for  his  field  ;  he  has  trembled  at  the  sight  of  great  violet- 
colored  clouds,  charged  with  hail ;  he  has  come,  dusty  and 

15  grimy,  from  the  exhausting  labors  of  harvesting. 

And  when  the  old  miller,  racked  by  the  rheumatism  that 
is  due  to  the  mists  of  the  river,  has  sent  his  flour  to  Paris, 
the  heavy  bags  are  still  to  be  carried  on  stout  shoulders  to 
the  bakeries  where  men  are  toiling  all  night  long. 

20  Truly  it  has  cost  all  this  labor  and  all  this  effort,  —  the 
little  white  morsel  of  bread  thoughtlessly  broken  by  idle 
fingers. 

By  this  time  the  incorrigible  dreamer  cannot  free  him- 
self from  such  thoughts.    The  dainties  of  the  feast  recall 

25  to  him  only  human  suffering. 


153 

"Come,"  he  says  to  himself,  "this  is  absurd.   The  world 
is  made  in  this  way.    There  have  always  been  the  rich  and 
the  poor.   Moreover,  these  ladies  and  gentlemen. are  neither 
selfish  nor  unkind.    They  are  not  idlers.    Our  host  bears  a 
name  bound  up  with  his  country's  glory.    The  officer  with    5 
the  gray  mustache  is  a  hero.   This  painter,  this  poet,  have  , 
faithfully  served  art  and  beauty.    This  scientist,  a  self- 
made  man,  has  earned  the  distinction  that  he  enjoys.   These 
women  are  kind  and  generous  and  capable  of  noble  self- 
sacrifice.    Why  should  they  not  have  all  this  enjoyment  ?  "  10 
The  dreamer  is  inclined  to  be  ashamed  of  himself. 

But  the  dinner  is  nearly  over,  and  while  the  servants 
are  filling  the  glasses  for  the  last  time  there  is  a  moment 
of  silence.  The  guests  are  beginning  to  be  a  little  weary. 
As  the  dreamer  looks  from  one  face  to  another  he  is  con-  15 
scious  of  a  vague,  bitter  protest  in  his  heart,  and  as  with 
the  rest  he  rises  to  leave  the  table,  he  murmurs  very  softly 
but  obstinately  :  "  Yes,  they  are  within  their  rights.  But 
do  they  know,  do  they  realize,  that  their'  luxury  is  made 
up  of  so  much  suffering  ?  Do  they  think  of  it  sometimes  ?  20 
Do  they  think  of  it  as  often  as  they  should  ?  Do  they 
think  of  it?" 

orders  :  decorative  badges  given  for  conspicuous  gallantry  or  public  serv- 
ice. —  turbot :  a  large  European  flounder,  sometimes  weighing  thirty  or 
forty  pounds.  —  Cleopatra's  pearl :  a  pearl  of  great  price,  which,  according 
to  an  impossible  legend,  was  dissolved  in  wine  and  swallowed  by  the  fa- 
mous queen  oi  Egypt.  — the  great  lady:  Marie  Antoinette,  wife  of  Louis 
XVI,  king  of  France.  — incorrigible :  hardened  against  reproof  or  correction. 


154 
THE  THINGS  THAT  COUNT 

Clarence  Urmy 

Clarence  Urmy,  a  poet  and  musician,  was  born  in  San  Francisco; 
California,  in  1858. 

Not  what  we  have,  but  what  we  use  ; 
Not  what  we  see,  but  what  we  choose  — 
5  These  are  the  things  that  mar  or  bless 

The  sum  of  human  happiness. 

The  things  near  by,  not  things  afar ; 
Not  what  we  seem,  but  what  we  are  — 
These  are  the  things  that  make  or  break, 
10  That  give  the  heart  its  joy  or  ache. 

Not  what  seems  fair,  but  what,  is  true  ; 
Not  what  we  dream,  but  good  we  do  — 
These  are  the  things  that  shine  like  gems, 
Like  stars,  in  Fortune's  diadems. 

15  Not  as  we  take,  but  as  we  give ; 

Not  as  we  pray,  but  as  we  live  — 
These  are  the  things  that  make  for  peace, 
Both  now  and  after  Time  shall  cease. 


155 

THE  OLD  WOLF'S  CHALLENGE 
AVilliam  J.  Long 

We  were  beating  up  the  Straits  to  the  Labrador  when 
a  great  gale  swooped  down  on  us  and  drove  us  like  a  scared 
wild  cluck  into  a  cleft  in  the  mountains,  where  the  breakers 
roared  and  the  seals  barked  on  the  black  rocks,  and  the 
reefs  bared  their  teeth  on  either  side  like  the  long  jaws  5 
of  a  wolf,  to  snap  at  us  as  we  passed. 

In  our  flight  we  had  picked  up  a  fisherman  —  snatched 
him  out  of  his  helpless  punt  as  we  luffed  in  a  smother  of 
spray,  and  dragged  him  aboard,  like  an  enormous  frog,  at 
the  end  of  the  jib  sheet  —  and  it  was  he  who  now  stood  at  10 
the  wheel  of  our  little  schooner  and  took  her  careening  in 
through  the  tickle  of  Harbor  Woe.  There,  in  a  desolate, 
rock-bound  refuge  on  the  Newfoundland  coast,  the  Wild 
Duck  swung  to  her  anchor,  veering  nervously  in  the  tide 
rip,  tugging  impatiently  and  clanking  her  chains  as  if  eager  15 
to  be  out  again  in  the  turmoil.  At  sunset  the  gale  blew 
itself  out,  and  presently  the  moon  wheeled  full  and  clear 
over  the  dark  mountains. 

Noel,  my  big  Indian,  was  curled  up  asleep  in  a  caribou 
skin  by  the  foremast ;  and  the  crew  were  all  below  asleep,  20 
every  man  glad  in  his  heart  to  be  once  more  safe  in  a  snug 
harbor.    All  about  us  stretched  the  desolate  wastes  of  sea 
and  mountains,  over  which  silence  and  darkness  brooded, 


156 

as  over  the  first  great  chaos.  Near  at  hand  were  the  black 
rocks,  eternally  wet  and  smoking  with  the  fog  and  gale ; 
beyond  towered  the  icebergs,  pale,  cold,  glittering  like 
spires  of  silver  in  the  moonlight ;  far  away,  like  a  vague 
5  shadow,  a  handful  of  little  gray  houses  clung  like  barna- 
cles to  the  base  of  a  great  bare  hill  whose  foot  was  in  the 
sea  and  whose  head  wavered  among  the  clouds  of  heaven. 
Not  a  light  shone,  not  a  sound  or  a  sign  of  life  came  from 
these  little  houses,  whose  shells  close  daily  at  twilight  over 

10  the  life  within,  weary  with  the  day's  work.  Only  the  dogs 
were  restless  —  those  strange  creatures  that  shelter  in  our 
houses  and  share  our  bread,  yet  live  in  another  world,  a 
dumb,  silent,  lonely  world  shut  out  from  ours  by  impass- 
able barriers. 

15  For  hours  these  uncanny  dogs  had  puzzled  me,  —  a  score 
of  vicious,  hungry  brutes  that  drew  the  sledges  in  winter, 
and  that  picked  up  a  vagabond  living  in  the  idle  summer 
by  hunting  rabbits  and  raiding  the  fishermen's  flakes  and 
pigpens,  and  by  catching  flounders  in  the  sea  as  the  tide 

20  ebbed.  Venture  among  them  with  fear  in  your  heart  and 
they  would  fly  at  your  legs  and  throat  like  wild  beasts ; 
but  twirl  a  big  stick  jauntily,  or,  better  still,  go  quietly  on 
your  way  without  concern,  and  they  would  skulk  aside 
and  watch  you  hungrily  out  of  the  corners  of  their  surly 

25  eyes,  whose  lids  were  red  and  bloodshot  as  a  mastiff's. 
When  the  moon  rose  I  noticed  them  flitting  about  like 
witches  on  the  lonely  shore,  miles  away  from  the  hamlet ; 


fx*7 


157 

now  sitting  on  their  tails  in  a  solemn  circle  ;  now  howling 
all  together  as  if  demented,  and  anon  listening  intently 
in  the  vast  silence,  as  if  they  heard  or  smelled  or  perhaps 
just  felt  the  presence  of  some  unknown  thing  that  was 
hidden  from  human  senses.  And  when  I  paddled  ashore  to  5 
watch  them,  one  ran  swiftly  past  without  heeding  me,  his 
nose  outstretched,  his  eyes  green  as  foxfire  in  the  moon- 
light, while  the  others  vanished  like  shadows  among  the 
black  rocks,  each  intent  on  his  unknown  quest. 

That  is  why  I  had  come  up  from  my  warm  bunk  at  mid-  10 
night  to  sit  alone  on  the  taffrail,  listening  in  the  keen  air 
to  the  howling  that  made  me  shiver,  spite  of  myself,  and 
watching  in  the  vague  moonlight  to  understand,  if  possible, 
what  the  brutes  felt  amid  the  primal  silence  and  desolation. 

A  long  interval  of  profound  stillness  had  passed,  and  I  15 
could  just  make  out  the  circle  of  dogs  sitting  on  their  tails 
on  the  open  shore,  when  suddenly,  faint  and  far  away,  an 
unearthly  howl  came  rolling  down  the  mountains,  ooooooo- 
ow<voiv-wow  !  a  long  wailing  crescendo  beginning  softly, 
like  a  sound  in  a  dream,  and  swelling  into  a  roar  that  waked  20 
the  sleeping  echoes  and  set  them  jumping  like  startled  goats 
from  crag  to  crag.    Instantly  the  huskies  answered,  every 
dog  breaking  out  into  indescribable  frenzied  wailings,  as 
a  collie  responds  in  agony  to  certain  chords  of  music  that 
stir  all  the  old  wolf  nature  sleeping  within  him.    For  five  25 
minutes  the  uproar  was  appalling ;  then  it  ceased  abruptly 
and  the  huskies  ran  wildly  here  and  there  among  the  rocks. 


158 


159 

From  far  away  an  answer,  an  echo  perhaps  of  their  wail- 
ing, or,  it  may  be,  the  cry  of  the  dogs  of  St.  Margaret's, 
came  ululating  over  the  deep.  Then  silence  again,  vast  and 
unnatural,  settling  over  the  gloomy  land  like  a  winding 
sheet.  5 

As  the  unknown  howl  trembled  faintly  in  the  air  Noel, 
who  had  slept  undisturbed  through  all  the  clamor  of  the 
dogs,  stirred  uneasily  by  the  foremast.  As  it  deepened  and 
swelled  into  a  roar  that  filled  all  the  night,  he  threw  off 
the  caribou  skin  and  came  aft  where  I  was  watching  alone.  10 
"  That  is  Wayeeses.  I  know  that  wolf ;  he  followed  me 
one  time,  oh,  a  long,  long  while  ago,"  he  whispered.  And 
taking  my  marine  glasses  he  stood  beside  me,  watching 
intently. 

There  was  another  long  period  of  waiting  ;  our  eyes  15 
grew  weary,  filled  as  they  were  with  shadows  and  uncer- 
tainties in  the  moonlight,  and  we  turned  our  ears  to  the 
hills,  waiting  with  strained,  silent  expectancy  for  the  chal- 
lenge.   Suddenly  Noel  pointed  upward  and  my  eye  caught 
something  moving  swiftly  on  the  crest  of  the  mountain.  20 
A  shadow  with  the  slinking  trot  of  a  wolf  glided  along  the 
ridge  between  us  and  the  moon.    Just  in  front  of  us  it 
stopped,  leaped  upon  a  big  rock,  turned  a  pointed  nose  up 
to  the  sky,  sharp  and  clear  as  a  fir  top  in  the  moonlight, 
and — ooooooo-ow-ivoiv-ivoic !  the  terrible  howl  of  a  great  25 
white  wolf  tumbled  down  on  the  husky  dogs  and  set  them 
howling  as  if  possessed.     No  doubt  now  of  their  queer 


160 

actions  which  had  puzzled  me  for  hours  past.  The  wild 
wolf  had  called  and  the  tame  wolves  waked  to  answer. 
Before  my  dull  ears  had  heard  a  rumor  of  it  they  were 
crazy  with  the  excitement.    Now  every  chord  in  their  wild 

5  hearts  was  twanging  its  thrilling  answer  to  the  leader's 
summons,  and  my  own  heart  awoke  and  thrilled  as  it  never 
did  before  to  the  call  of  a  wild  beast. 

For  an  hour  or  more  the  old  wolf  sat  there,  challenging 
his  degenerate  mates  in  every  silence,  calling  the  tame  to 

10  be  wild,  the  bound  to  be  free  again,  and  listening  gravely 
to  the  wailing  answer  of  the  dogs,  who  refused  with 
groanings,  as  if  dragging  themselves  away  from  over- 
mastering temptation.  Then  the  shadow  vanished  from  the 
big  rock  on  the  mountain,  the  huskies  fled  away  wildly 

15  from  the  shore,  and  only  the  sob  of  the  breakers  broke  the 

stillness. 

From  Northern  Trails 

the  Labrador' :  the  northeast  coast  of  the  great  peninsula  of  Labrador 
belongs  to  Newfoundland  and  is  usually  spoken  of  as  "  the  Labrador  "  by 
the  inhabitants  of  that  region.  The  interior  of  the  peninsula  belongs  to 
the  Dominion  of  Canada.  — punt :  a  flat-bottomed  boat.  —  luffed  :  turned  the 
bow  of  the  boat  toward  the  wind.  —  jib  sheet :  the  rope  controlling  the 
small  forward  sail  or  jib. — tickle:  a  narrow,  difficult  entrance  to  a  har- 
bor. —  tide  rip  :  rapids  caused  by  the  rush  of  the  tide.  —  flakes  :  frames  or 
platforms  for  drying  codfish.  —  foxfire  :  the  phosphorescent  light  given 
out  by  decayed  timber.  —  taffrail :  the  rail  around  the  stern  of  a  vessel.  — 
primal  silence  :  the  silence  of  the  beginning  of  the  world.  —  huskies  :  sledge 
dogs.  —  ululating  (ul'u  la  ting)  :  with  a  howling,  wailing  sound.  —  aft : 
toward  the  stern  of  a  boat.  —  Way  ee'ses  :  the  white  wolf,  the  strong  one. 
—  degenerate:  less  worthy,  having  lost  physical  or  moral  qualities. 


161 
ALONG  THE  DOCKS 

George  William  Curtis 

George  William  Curtis  (1824-1892)  was  an  American  essayist  and 
orator,  distinguished  for  his  integrity  and  courage  as  well  as  for  his  charm- 
ing literary  style.  He  was  born  in  Providence,  Rhode  Island,  and  many 
hours  of  his  boyhood  were  spent  upon  the  wharves  of  that  city. 

My  earliest  remembrances  are  of  a  long  range  of  old,    5 
half -dilapidated    stores,  —  red    brick    stores    with    steep 
wooden  roofs  and  stone  window  frames  and  door  frames,     . 
which  stood  upon  docks  built  as  if  for  immense  trade 
with  all  quarters  of  the  globe. 

Generally  there  were  only  a  few  sloops  moored  to  the  10 
tremendous  posts,  which  I  fancied  could  easily  hold  fast  a 
Spanish  Armada  in  a  tropical  hurricane.  But  sometimes 
a  great  ship,  an  East  Indiaman,  with  rusty,  seamed,  blis- 
tered sides  and  dingy  sails,  came  slowly  moving  up  the 
harbor,  with  an  air  of  indolent  self-importance  and  con-  15 
sciousness  of  superiority,  which  inspired  me  with  profound 
respect.  If  the  ship  had  ever  chanced  to  run  down  a  row- 
boat  or  a  sloop  or  any  specimen  of  smaller  craft,  I  should 
only  have  wondered  at  the  temerity  of  any  floating  thing 
in  crossing  the  path  of  such  supreme  majesty.  20 

How  the  stately  monster  had  been  fattening  upon  for- 
eign spoils !  How  it  had  gorged  itself  (such  galleons  did 
never  seem  to  me  of  the  feminine  gender)  with  the  luscious 


162 

treasures  of  the  tropics.  It  had  lain  its  lazy  length  along 
the  shores  of  China,  and  sucked  in  whole  flowery  harvests 
of  tea.  The  Brazilian  sun  flashed  through  the  strong  wicker 
prisons,  bursting  with  bananas  and  fruits  that  eschew  the 
5  temperate  zone.  Steams  of  camphor,  of  sandal  wood, 
arose  from  the  hold.  Sailors  chanting  cabalistic  strains, 
that  had  to  my  ear  a  shrill  and  monotonous  pathos,  like 
the  uniform  rising  and  falling  of  an  autumn  wind,  turned 
cranks  that  lifted  the  bales  and  boxes  and  crates  and  swung 

10  them  ashore. 

But  to  my  mind  the  spell  of  their  singing  raised  the 
fragrant  freight,  —  and  not  the  crank.  Madagascar  and 
Ceylon  appeared  at  the  mystic  bidding  of  the  song.  The 
placid  sunshine  of  the  docks  was  perfumed  with  India. 

15  The  universal  calm  of  southern  seas  poured  from  the  bosom 
of  the  ship  over  the  quiet  old  northern  port. 

Long  after  the  confusion  of  unloading  was  over,  and  the 
ship  lay  as  if  all  voyages  were  ended,  I  dared  to  creep  tim- 
orously along  the  edge  of  the  dock,  and  at  great  risk  of 

20  falling  into  the  black  water  of  its  huge  shadow,  I  placed 
my  hand  upon  the  hot  hulk  and  so  established  a  mystic 
and  exquisite  connection  with,  the  Pacific  islands,  with 
palm  groves,  with  jungles,  pepper,  and  Bengal  tigers.  I 
touched  Asia,  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  and  the  Happy 

25  Islands.  I  would  not  believe  that  the  heat  I  felt  was  of 
our  northern  sun ;  to  my  finer  sympathy  it  burned  with 
equatorial  fervors. 


163 

The  freight  was  piled  in  the  old  stores.  Silence  reigned 
within,  —  silence,  dimness,  and  piles  of  foreign  treasure. 
Vast  coils  of  cable,  like  tame  boa-constrictors,  served  as 
seats  for  men  with  heavy  watch  seals  and  nankeen  trousers, 
who  sat  looking  out  of  the  door  toward  the  ships,  with  little  5 
other  sign  of  life  than  an  occasional  low  talking  as  if  in 
their  sleep.  Huge  hogsheads  perspiring  brown  sugar  and 
oozing  slow  molasses,  as  if  nothing  tropical  could  keep 
within  bounds,  but  must  continually  expand  and  exude 
and  overflow,  stood  against  the  walls,  and  had  an  archi-  10 
tectural  significance,  for  they  darkly  reminded  me  of  Egyp- 
tian prints,  and  in  the  duskiness  of  the  low-vaulted  store 
seemed  cyclopean  columns  incomplete.  Strange  festoons 
and  heaps  of  bags,  square  piles  of  square  boxes  cased  in 
mats,  bales  of  airy  summer  stuffs,  which  even  in  winter  15 
scoffed  at  cold  and  shamed  it  by  audacious  assumption  of 
eternal  sun,  little  specimen  boxes  of  precious  dyes  that  even 
now  shine  through  my  memory,  —  these  were  all  there  in 
rich  confusion. 

The  stores  had  a  twilight  of  dimness ;  the  air  was  spicy  20 
with  mingled  odors.  I  liked  to  look  in  suddenly,  from  the 
glare  of  sunlight  outside  ;  and  then  the  cool,  sweet  dimness 
was  like  the  palpable  breath  of  the  far-off  island  groves. 
And  if  only  some  parrot  or  macaw,  hung  within,  would 
flaunt  with  glistening  plumage  in  his  cage,  and,  as  the  gay  25 
hue  flashed  in  a  chance  sunbeam,  call  in  his  hard,  shrill 
voice,  as  if  thrusting  sharp  sounds  upon  a  glistening  wire 


164 


from  out  that  grateful  gloom,  then  the  enchantment  was 
complete,  and  without  moving  I  was  circumnavigating 
the  globe. 

From  the  old  stores  and  the  docks,  slowly  crumbling, 
5  touched,  I  know  not  why  or  how,  by  the  pensive  air  of 


-                      <*9^1be 

;:  -^Ip^^;^  ;.,• 

Providence  Harbor  in  1837 

past  prosperity,  I  rambled  out  of  town  on  these  well- 
remembered  afternoons,  to  the  fields  that  lay  upon  hill- 
sides over  the  harbor,  and  there  sat,  looking  out  to  sea, 
fancying  some  distant  sail  to  be  my  type  and  image,  who 
10  would  so  sail,  stately  and  successful,  to  all  the  glorious 


165 

ports  of  the  future.  Going  home,  I  returned  by  the  stores 
which  the  porters  were  closing.  But  I  stood  long  looking  in, 
saturating  my  imagination,  and,  as  it  appeared,  my  clothes, 
with  the  spicy  suggestion.  For  when  I  reached  home  my 
thrifty  mother  came  snuffing  and  smelling  about  me.  5 

"  Why,  my  son  (snuff,  snuff),  where  have  you  been  ?  Has 
the  baker  (snuff,  snuff)  been  making  gingerbread?  You 
smell  (snuff,  snuff)  as  if  you  had  been  in  a  bag  of  cinnamon." 

"I've  only  been  on  the  wharves,  mother." 

"  Well,  my  dear,  I  hope  your  clothes  are  not  covered  10 
with  molasses.    Wharves  are  dirty  places,  and  dangerous. 
You  must  take  care  of  yourself,  my  son.    Really,  this  smell 
is  very  strong." 

But  I  departed  from  the  maternal  presence,  proud  and 

happy.    I  was  aromatic.    I  bore  about  me  the  true  foreign  15 

air.    Whoever  smelt  me  smelt  distant  countries.   I  pleased 

myself  with  being  the  representative  of  the  Indies.    I  was 

in  good  odor  with  myself  and  all' the  world. 

From  True  and  I 

Spanish  Armada :  a  splendid  fleet  sent  out  by  Spain  against  England  in 
1588.  —  galleon  :  a  large,  clumsy  vessel  of  the  fifteenth  and  sixteenth  cen- 
turies. —  eschew  :  shun,  avoid.  —  cabalistic  :  mysterious,  full  of  hidden 
meaning.  —  exquisite  (ex'qui  zit)  :  of  unusually  fine  quality.  This  word  is 
often  wrongly  accented  on  the  second  syllable.  —  Happy  Islands  :  fabled 
islands  in  the  Atlantic  Ocean,  much  talked  of  by  sailors  before  the  days 
of  Columbus.  —  nankeen  :  a  durable,  brownish-yellow  cotton  cloth.  — 
darkly :  obscurely,  mysteriously.  —  low-vaulted  :  low-studded.  —  cyclopean  : 
gigantic,  huge.  —  grateful :  pleasing  to  the  senses.  —  in  good  odor  :  in  good 
standing,  or  in  good  repute. 


166 
MY  LOST  YOUTH 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow  was  born  at  Portland,  Maine,  in 
1807,  and  died  at  Cambridge,  Massachusetts,  in  1882.  He  is  perhaps  the 
best  known  and  best  loved  of  all  American  poets,  not  only  at  home  but 
abroad. 

5      Often  I  think  of  the  beautiful  town 
That  is  seated  by  the  sea ; 
Often  in  thought  go  up  and  down 
The  pleasant  streets  of  that  dear  old  town, 
And  my  youth  comes  back  to  me. 
10  And  a  verse  of  a  Lapland  song 

Is  haunting  my  memory  still : 
"  A  boy's  will  is  the  wind's  will, 
And  the  thoughts  of  youth  are  long,  long  thoughts." 

I  can  see  the  shadowy  lines  of  its  trees, 
15  And  catch,  in  sudden  gleams, 

The  sheen  of  the  far-surrounding  seas, 
And  islands  that  were  the  Hesperides 
Of  all  my  boyish  dreams. 

And  the  burden  of  that  old  song, 
20  It  murmurs  and  whispers  still : 

"  A  boy's  will  is  the  wind's  will, 
And  the  thoughts  of  youth  are  long,  long  thoughts." 


167 

I  remember  the  black  wharves  and  the  slips, 

And  the  sea-tides  tossing  free ; 
And  Spanish  sailors  with  bearded  lips, 
And  the  beauty  and  mystery  of  the  ships, 

And  the  magic  of  the  sea.  6 

And  the  voice  of  that  wayward  song 
Is  singing  and  saying  still : 
"  A  boy's  will  is  the  wind's  will, 
And  the  thoughts  of  youth  are  long,  long  thoughts." 

I  remember  the  bulwarks  by  the  shore,  10 

And  the  fort  upon  the  hill ; 
The  sunrise  gun,  with  its  hollow  roar, 
The  drum-beat  repeated  o'er  and  o'er, 
And  the  bugle  wild  and  shrill. 

And  the  music  of  that  old  song  is 

Throbs  in  my  memory  still  : 
"  A  boy's  will  is  the  wind's  will, 
And  the  thoughts  of  youth  are  long,  long  thoughts." 

I  remember  the  gleams  and  glooms  that  dart 

Across  the  school-boy's  brain ;  20 

The  song  and  the  silence  in  the  heart, 
That  in  part  are  prophecies,  and  in  part 
Are  longings  wild  and  vain. 

And  the  voice  of  that  fitful  song 

Sings  on,  and  is  never  still :  25 


168 

"  A  boy's  will  is  the  wind's  will, 
And  the  thoughts  of  youth  are  long,  long  thoughts." 

There  are  things  of  which  I  may  not  speak ; 
There  are  dreams  that  cannot  die ; 
5      There  are  thoughts  that  make  the  strong  heart  weak, 
And  bring  a  pallor  into  the  cheek, 
And  a  mist  before  the  eye. 

And  the  words  of  that  fatal  song 
Come  over  me  like  a  chill : 
10  "  A  boy's  will  is  the  wind's  will, 

And  the  thoughts  of  youth  are  long,  long  thoughts." 

Strange  to  me  now  are  the  forms  I  meet 

When  I  visit  the  dear  old  town ; 
But  the  native  air  is  pure  and  sweet, 
15      And  the  trees  that  o'ershadow  each  well-known  street, 
As  they  balance  up  and  down, 
Are  singing  the  beautiful  song, 
Are  sighing  and  whispering  still : 
"  A  boy's  will  is  the  wind's  will, 
20      And  the  thoughts  of  youth  are  long,  long  thoughts." 

And  Deering's  Woods  are  fresh  and  fair, 

And  with  joy  that  is  almost  pain 
My  heart  goes  back  to  wander  there, 
And  among  the  dreams  of  the  days  that  were, 
25  I  find  my  lost  youth  again. 


169 


And  the  strange  and  beautiful  song^ 
The  groves  are  repeating  it  still  : 
"A  boy's  will  is  the  wind's  will, 
And  the  thoughts  of  youth  are  long,  long  thoughts." 

Hesperides  (hgs  per'I  dez)  :   gardens  where  grew  the  wonderful  golden 
apples  which  were  famous  in  Greek  mythology. 


170 
THE  CASTAWAY 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

Note.  Young  David  Balfour,  having  been  shipwrecked  off  the  west 
coast  of  Scotland,  is  washed  ashore  on  a  tiny  island  not  far  from  Mull.  In 
the  following  pages  he  tells  of  his  experience  on  the  rocky  islet. 

With  my  stepping  ashore  I  began  the  most  unhappy 
5  part  of  my  adventures.  It  was  half -past  twelve  in  the 
morning,  and  though  the  wind  was  broken  by  the  land,  it 
was  a  cold  night.  I  dared  not  sit  down  (for  I  thought  I 
should  have  frozen),  but  took  off  my  shoes  and  walked  to 
and  fro  upon  the  sand,  barefoot  and  beating  my  breast, 

10  with  infinite  weariness.  There  was  no  sound  of  man  or 
cattle ;  not  a  cock  crew,  though  it  was  about  the  hour  of 
their  first  waking;  only  the  surf  broke  outside  in  the 
distance.  To  walk  by  the  sea  at  that  hour,  and  in  a  place 
so  lonesome,  struck  me  with  a  kind  of  fear. 

is  As  soon  as  the  day  began  to  break  I  put  on  my  shoes 
and  climbed  a  hill,  —  the  ruggedest  scramble  I  ever  under- 
took —  falling,  the  whole  way,  between  big  blocks  of 
granite  or  leaping  from  one  to  another.  When  I  got  to 
the  top  the  dawn  was  come.    There  was  no  sign  of  the  brig, 

20  which  must  have  lifted  from  the  reef  and  sunk.  The  boat, 
too,  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  There  was  never  a  sail  upon 
the  ocean  ;  and  in  what  I  could  see  of  the  land,  was  neither 
house  nor  man. 


171 

I  was  afraid  to  think  what  had  befallen  my  shipmates, 
and  afraid  to  look  longer  at  so  empty  a  scene.  What  with 
my  wet  clothes  and  my  weariness  and  hunger,  I  had 
enough  to  trouble  me  without  that.  So  I  set  off  eastward 
along  the  south  coast,  hoping  to  find  a  house  where  I  5 
might  warm  myself,  and  perhaps  get  news  of  those  I 
had  lost.  And  at  the  worst,  I  considered  the  sun  would 
soon  rise  and  dry  my  clothes. 

After  a  little  my  way  was  stopped  by  a  creek  or  inlet 
of  the  sea,  which  seemed  to  run  pretty  deep  into  the  land  ;  10 
and  as  I  had  no  means  to  get  across,  I  must  needs  change 
my  direction  to  go  about  the  end  of  it.    It  was  still  the 
roughest  kind  of  walking ;  indeed  the  whole,  not  only  of 
Earraid,  but  of  the  neighboring  part  of  Mull  (which  they  call 
the  Ross),  is  nothing  but  a  jumble  of  granite  rocks  with  15 
heather  in  among.    At  first  the  creek  kept  narrowing,  as  I 
had  looked  to  see ;  but  presently,  to  my  surprise,  it  began 
to  widen  out  again.    I  had  still  no  notion  of  the  truth 
until  at  last  I  came  to  a  rising  ground,  and  it  burst  upon 
me  all  in  a  moment  that  I  was  cast  upon  a  little  barren  20 
isle,  and  cut  off  on  every  side  by  the  salt  seas. 

Instead  of  the  sun  rising  to  dry  me,  it  came  on  to  rain, 
with  a  thick  mist,  so  that  my  case  was  lamentable. 

I  stood  in  the  rain  and  shivered,  and  wondered  what  to 
do,  till  it  occurred  to  me  that  perhaps  the  creek  was  ford-  25 
able.    Back  I  went  to  the  narrowest  point  and  waded  in. 
But  not  three  yards  from  shore  I  plumped  in  head  over 


172 

ears.  I  was  no  wetter  (for  that  could  hardly  be),  but  I 
was  all  the  colder  for  this  mishap,  and,  having  lost  another 
hope,  was  the  more  unhappy. 

The  time  I  spent  upon  the  island  is  still  so  horrible  a 

5  thought  to  me  that  I  must  pass  it  lightly  over.  In  all  the 
books  I  have  read  of  people  cast  away,  they  had  either 
their  pockets  full  of  tools,  or  a  chest  of  things  would  be 
thrown  upon  the  beach  along  with  them,  as  if  on  purpose. 
My  case  was  very  different.    I  had  nothing  in  my  pockets 

10  but  money,  and,  being  inland  bred,  I  was  as  much  short  of 
knowledge  as  of  means. 

I  knew,  indeed,  that  shellfish  were  counted  good  to  eat  ; 
and  among  the  rocks  of  the  isle  I  found  a  great  plenty  of 
limpets,  which  at  first  I  could  scarcely  strike  from  their 

15  places,  not  knowing  quickness  to  be  needful.  There  were, 
besides,  some  of  the  little  shells  that  we  call "  buckies  ";  I 
think  periwinkle  is  the  English  name.  Of  these  two  I 
made  my  whole  diet,  devouring  them  cold  and  raw  as 
I  found  them ;  and  so  hungry  was  I  that  at  first  they 

20  seemed  to  me  delicious. 

All  day  it  streamed  rain  ;  the  island  ran  like  a  sop ;  there 
was  no  dry  spot  to  be  found ;  and  when  I  lay  down  that 
night,  between  two  bowlders  that  made  a  kind  of  roof,  my 
feet  were  in  a  bog. 

25  The  second  day  I  crossed  the  island  to  all  sides.  There 
was  no  one  part  of  it  better  than  another  ;  it  was  all  deso- 
late and  rocky ;  nothing  living  on  it  but  game  birds,  which 


173 

I  lacked  the  means  to  kill,  and  the  gulls  which  haunted  the 
outlying  rocks  in  a  prodigious  number.  But  the  creek  that 
cut  off  the  isle  from  the  main  land  of  the  Ross  opened  out 
on  the  north  into  a  bay,  and  it  was  the  neighborhood  of 
this  place  that  I  chose  to  be  my  home.  5 

I  had  good  reasons  for  my  choice.  There  was  in  this  part 
of  the  isle  a  little  hut  of  a  house  like  a  pig's  hut,  where 
fishers  used  to  sleep  when  they  came  there  upon  their  busi- 
ness ;  but  the  turf  roof  of  it  had  fallen  entirely  in,  so  that 
the  hut  was  of  no  use  to  me,  and  gave  me  less  shelter  than  10 
my  rocks.  What  was  more  important,  the  shellfish  on 
which  I  lived  grew  there  in  great  plenty ;  when  the  tide 
was  out  I  could  gather  a  peck  at  a  time,  and  this  was 
doubtless  a  convenience.  But  the  other  reason  went  deeper. 
I  had  become  in  no  way  used  to  the  horrid  solitude  of  the  15 
isle,  but  still  looked  round  me  on  all  sides  (like  a  man  that 
was  hunted),  between  fear  and  hope  that  I  might  see  some 
human  creature  coming.  Now,  from  a  little  up  the  hillside 
over  the  bay  I  could  catch  a  sight  of  a  great,  ancient  church 
and  the  roofs  of  houses.  And  on  the  other  hand,  over  the  20 
low  country  of  the  Ross,  I  saw  smoke  go  up  morning  and 
evening,  as  if  from  a  homestead  in  a  hollow  of  the  land. 

I  used  to  watch  this  smoke  when  I  was  wet  and  cold 
and  had  my  head  half  turned  with  loneliness,  and  think 
of  the  fireside  and  the  company,  till  my  heart  burned.    Al-  25 
together,  this  sight  I  had  of  men's  homes  and  comfortable 
lives,  although  it  put  a  point  on  my  own  sufferings,  yet  it 


174 

kept  hope  alive,  and  helped  me  to  eat  my  raw  shellfish, 
and  saved  me  from  the  sense  of  horror  I  had  whenever  I 
was  quite  alone  with  dead  rocks,  and  fowls,  and  the  rain, 
and  the  cold  sea. 
5  I  say  it  kept  hope  alive ;  and  indeed  it  seemed  impossi- 
ble that  I  should  be  left  to  die  on  the  shores  of  my  own 
country,  and  within  view  of  a  church  tower  and  the  smoke 
of  men's  houses.  But  the  second  day  passed ;  and  though 
as  long  as  the  light  lasted  I  kept  a  bright  lookout  for  boats, 

10  or  men  passing  on  the  Ross,  no  help  came  near  me.  It 
still  rained  and  I  turned  in  to  sleep  as  wet  as  ever. 

Charles  the  Second  declared  a  man  could  stay  outdoors 
more  days  in  the  year  in  the  climate  of  England  than  in 
any  other.    This  was  very  like  a  king  with  a  palace  at  his 

15  back  and  changes  of  dry  clothes.  But  he  must  have  had 
better  luck  on  his  flight  from  Worcester  than  I  had  on 
that  miserable  isle.  It  was  the  height  of  the  summer; 
yet  it  rained  for  more  than  twenty-four  hours,  and  did  not 
clear  until  the  afternoon  of  the  third  day. 

20  Indeed,  my  plight  on  that  third  morning  was  truly  piti- 
ful. My  clothes  were  beginning  to  rot,  my  stockings  in 
particular  were  quite  worn  through,  my  hands  had  grown 
soft  with  the  continual  soaking,  my  throat  was  very  sore, 
my  strength  had  much  abated,  and  my  heart  so  turned 

25  against  the  stuff  I  was  condemned  to  eat,  that  the  very 
sight  of  it  came  near  to  sicken  me. 
And  yet  the  worst  was  not  yet  come. 


175 

There  is  a  pretty  high  rock  on  the  northwest  of  Earraid, 
which  I  was  much  in  the  habit  of  frequenting  ;  not  that 
ever  I  stayed  in  one  place  save  when  asleep,  my  misery 
giving  me  no  rest.  Indeed,  I  wore  myself  down  with  con- 
tinual and  aimless  goings  and  coinings  in  the  rain.  5 

As  soon,  however,  as  the  sun  came  out  I  lay  down  on 
the  top  of  that  rock  to  dry  myself.  The  comfort  of  the 
sunshine  is  a  thing  I  cannot  tell.  It  set  me  thinking  hope- 
fully of  my  deliverance,  of  which  I  had  begun  to  despair ; 
and  I  scanned  the  sea  and  the  Ross  with  a  fresh  interest.  10 
On  the  south  of  my  rock  a  part  of  the  island  jutted  out 
and  hid  the  open  ocean,  so  that  a  boat  could  thus  come 
quite  near  me  upon  that  side  and  I  be  none  the  wiser. 

Well,  all  of  a  sudden  a  coble  with  a  brown  sail  and  a 
pair  of  fishers  aboard  of  it  came  flying  round  that  corner  15 
of  the  isle.  I  shouted  out,  and  then  fell  on  my  knees  on 
the  rock  and  reached  up  my  hands  and  prayed  to  them. 
They  were  near  enough  to  hear,  —  I  could  even  see  the 
color  of  their  hair  ;  and  there  was  no  doubt  but  they  ob- 
served me,  for  they  cried  out  in  the  Gaelic  tongue  and  20 
laughed.  But  the  boat  never  turned  aside,  and  flew  on 
right  before  my  eyes. 

I  could  not  believe  such  wickedness,  and  ran  along  the 
shore  from  rock  to  rock,  crying  on  them  piteously  ;  even 
after  they  were  out  of  reach  of  my  voice  I  still  cried  and  25 
waved  to  them,  and  when  they  were  quite  gone  I  thought 
my  heart  would  have  burst. 


176 

The  next  day  (which  was  the  fourth  of  this  horrible  life 
of  mine)  I  found  my  bodily  strength  run  very  low.  But 
the  sun  shone,  the  air  was  sweet,  and  what  I  managed  to 
eat  of  the  shellfish  revived  my  courage. 
5  I  was  scarce  back  on  my  rock  (where  I  went  always  the 
first  thing  after  I  had  eaten)  before  I  observed  a  boat  com- 
ing, with  her  head  in  my  direction. 

I  began  at  once  to  hope  and  fear  exceedingly ;  for  I 
thought  these  men  might  have  thought  better  of  their 

10  cruelty  and  be  coming  back  to  my  assistance.  But  another 
disappointment  such  as  yesterday's  was  more  than  I  could 
bear.  I  turned  my  back,  accordingly,  upon  the  sea,  and 
did  not  look  again  till  I  had  counted  many  hundreds.  The 
boat  was  still  heading  for  the  island.    The  next  time  I 

15  counted  the  full  thousand,  as  slowly  as  I  could,  my  heart 
beating  so  as  to  hurt  me.  And  then  it  was  out  of  all  ques- 
tion.   She  was  coming  straight  to  Earraid  ! 

I  could  no  longer  hold  myself  back,  but  ran  to  the  sea- 
side and  out,  from  one  rock  to  another,  as  far  as  I  could 

20  go.  It  is  a  marvel  I  was  not  drowned ;  for  when  I  was 
brought  to  a  stand  at  last  my  legs  shook  under  me,  and 
my  mouth  was  so  dry  I  must  wet  it  with  the  sea  water 
before  I  was  able  to  shout. 

All  this  time  the  boat  was  coming  on,  and  now  I  was 

25  able  to  perceive  it  was  the  same  boat  and  the  same  two 
men  as  yesterday.  This  I  knew  by  their  hair,  which  the 
one  had  of  a  bright  yellow  and  the  other  black.    But  now 


177 


178 

there  was  a  third  man  along  with  them,  who  looked  to  be 
of  a  better  class. 

As  soon  as  they  were  come  within  easy  speech  they  let 

down  their  sail  and  lay  quiet.    In  spite  of  my  supplications 

5  they  drew  no  nearer  in,  and,  what  frightened  me  most  of 

all,  the  new  man  te-hee'd  with  laughter  as  he  talked  and 

looked  at  me. 

Then  he  stood  up  in  the  boat  and  addressed  me  a  long 
while,  speaking  fast  and  with  many  wavings  of  his  hand. 
10  Listening  very  close,  I  caught  the  word  "  whatever  "  sev- 
eral times,  but  all  the  rest  was  Gaelic  and  might  have 
been  Greek  and  Hebrew  for  me. 

"  Whatever,"  said  I,  to  show  him  that  I  had  caught  a 
word. 
15      "Yes,  yes  —  yes,  yes,"  says  he,  and  then  began  again 
as  hard  as  ever  in  the  Gaelic. 

This  time  I  picked  out  another  word,  "tide."    Then  I 
had  a  flash  of  hope.    I  remembered  he  was  always  waving 
his  hand  towards  the  mainland  of  the  Ross. 
20      "  Do  you  mean  that  when  the  tide  is  out  —  ?  "    I  cried, 
and  could  not  finish. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  he.    "  Tide." 

At  that  I  turned  tail  upon  their  boat  (where  my  adviser 

had  once  more  begun  to  te-hee  with  laughter),  leaped 

25  back  the  way  I  had  come,  from  one  stone  to  another,  and 

set  off  running  across  the  isle  as  I  had  never  run  before. 

In  about  half  an  hour  I  came  out  upon  the  shores  of  the 


179 

creek  ;  and,  sure  enough,  it  was  shrunk  into  a  little  trickle 
of  water  through  which  I '  dashed,  not  above  my  knees, 
and  landed  with  a  shout  on  the  main  island. 

A  sea-bred  boy  would  not  have  stayed  a  day  on  Earraid, 
which  is  only  what  they  call  a  tidal  islet,  and  can  be  en-  5 
tered  and  left  twice  in  every  twenty-four  hours,  either  dry- 
shod,  or,  at  the  most,  by  wading.  Even  I,  who  had  the  tide 
going  out  and  in  before  me  in  the  bay,  and  even  watched 
for  the  ebbs,  the  better  to  get  my  shellfish  —  even  I  (I 
say),  if  I  had  sat  down  to  think,  instead  of  raging  at  my  10 
fate,  must  have  soon  guessed  the  secret  and  got  free.  It 
was  no  wonder  the  fishers  had  not  understood  me.  The 
wonder  was  rather  that  they  had  ever  guessed  my  pitiful 
illusion  and  taken  the  trouble  to  come  back.  I  had  starved 
with  cold  and  hunger  on  that  island  for  close  upon  one  15 
hundred  hours.  But  for  the  fishers  I  might  have  left  my 
bones  there  in  pure  folly.  And  even  as  it  was,  I  had  paid 
for  it  pretty  dear,  not  only  in  past  sufferings,  but  in  my 
present  case,  being  clothed  like  a  beggar  man,  scarce  able 
to  walk,  and  in  great  pain  of  my  sore  throat.  20 

From  Kidnapped 

Balfour  (b&l'f fir) .  —  Mull :  an  island  off  the  west  coast  of  Scotland.  — 
Earraid:  a  small  island  near  Mull. — horrid:  terrible  or  horrible.  This 
word  is  often  wrongly  used  to  mean  "  disagreeable."  —  turned  in  :  lay  down 
for  the  night.  —  Charles  the  Second  :  a  king  of  England.  In  1651  he  was 
defeated  in  battle  at  Worcester  (woos'ter)  and  barely  escaped  with  his  life. 
For  two  months  he  traveled  in  the  disguise  of  a  peasant.  — coble  (kSb'l)  : 
a  small  fishing  boat.  —  Gaelic  (ga'llc)  :  the  ancient  language  of  Scotland. 


180 


THE  STORMY  PETREL 


Barry  Cornwall 


Barry  Cornwall  was  the  assumed  name  of  Bryan  Waller  Procter 
(1787-1874),  an  English  poet  whom  a  well-known  critic  calls  "  a  natural 
and  exquisite  song  writer." 

Note.    The  stormy  petrels  are  tiny  black  and  white  birds,  often  called 
5  by  sailors  "  Mother  Carey's  chickens."   They  are  said  to  be  seen  most  fre- 
quently when  a  storm  is  approaching. 

A  thousand  miles  from  land  are  we, 
Tossing  about  on  the  roaring  sea ; 
From  billow  to  bounding  billow  cast, 
10  Like  fleecy  snow  on  the  stormy  blast : 

The  sails  are  scattered  abroad  like  weeds ; 
The  strong  masts  shake  like  quivering  reeds ; 
The  mighty  cables,  and  iron  chains, 
The  hull,  which  all  earthly  strength  disdains,  — 


181 

They  strain  and  they  crack ;  and  hearts  like  stone 
Their  natural,  hard,  proud  strength  disown. 

Up  and  down  !  Up  and  down  ! 

From  the  base  of  the  wave  to  the  billow's  crown ; 

And  midst  the  flashing  and  feathery  foam  5 

The  Stormy  Petrel  finds  a  home,  — 

A  home,  if  such  a  place  may  be 

For  her  who  lives  on  the  wide,  wide  sea, 

On  the  craggy  ice,  in  the  frozen  air, 

And  only  seeketh  her  rocky  lair  10 

To  warm  her  young,  and  to  teach  them  to  spring 

At  once  o'er  the  waves  on  their  stormy  wing. 

O'er  the  deep  !    O'er  the  deep  ! 

Where  the  whale,  and  the  shark,  and  the  swordfish 

sleep ;  is 

Out  flying  the  blast  and  the  driving  rain, 
The  Petrel  telleth  her  tale  —  in  vain  ; 
For  the  mariner  curseth  the  warning  bird 
Who  bringeth  him  news  of  the  storm  unheard ! 
Ah  !  thus  does  the  prophet  of  good  or  ill  20 

Meet  hate  from  the  creatures  he  serveth  still ; 
Yet  he  ne'er  falters  :  —  so,  Petrel,  spring 
Once  more  o'er  the  waves  on  thy  stormy  wing ! 

Petrel  (pet'rel)  :  a  name  meaning  "little  Peter";  perhaps  from  the 
story  of  St.  Peter's  walking  on  the  waves. 


182 


A  HIGHLAND  ADVENTURE 


Dinah  Mulock  Ckaik 


Dinah  Mulock  Craik  (1826-1887)  was  an  English  novelist  and  poet. 

Nobody  who  has  lived  only  in  a  flat  country  can  have 
the  least  idea  of  what  a  stream  really  is  in  the  Highlands. 
Not  a  quiet,  babbling,  good-tempered  brook,  but  a  perfect 

5  torrent,  which,  be  the  volume  of  water  great  or  small,  is 
equally  impetuous.  It  comes  leaping  from  rock  to  rock, 
circling  the'  larger  stones,  dashing  over  the  little  ones ; 
divided  here  and  there  into  half  a  dozen  zigzag  channels, 
or  again  joined  into  one,  flowing  for  perhaps  a  few  yards, 

10  until  the  rocky  impediments  break  it  once  more.  Mostly 
it  is  so  shallow  that  you  can  step  through  it,  but  in  places 
it  sinks  into  deep,  still  pools  under  the  hollows  of  rocks,  — 
tempting,  transparent,  crystal  baths,  where  you  can  almost 


183 

see  the  bottom.   But  it  must  be  a  very  venturesome  bather 
who  would  put  his  foot  in  there. 

Such  a  stream  was  the  one  I  speak  of,  up  the  channel  of 
which  we  four  merry  boys  went.  What  fun,  what  laugh- 
ing we  had  !  How  we  took  off  our  shoes  and  stockings  and  5 
slung  them  over  our  shoulders,  that  we  might  the  easier 
cling  to  the  smooth  stones.  How  delicious  it  was  to  feel 
the  water  dashing  coldly  over  our  bare  feet,  as  we  tried,  by 
the  puny  resistance  of  those  said  feet  planted  across  lesser 
channels,  to  stop  a  current  that  was  as  resistless  as  time.  10 

No  felicity  is  without  its  vexations,  and  I  remember  we 
were  tormented  by  the  midges,  that  would  come  about  us 
in  myriads,  settling  on  our  faces  and  stinging,  till  they 
almost  drove  us  crazy. 

I  cannot  call   to  mind  every  portion  of  our  walk,  or  15 
rather  scramble,  for  we  scorned  anything  like  regular  loco- 
motion, but  I  know  that  our  next  trouble  was  something 
worse  than  midges.    We  got  into  a  bog. 

I  never  can  understand  why,  on  mountain  sides,  which 
one  might  naturally  expect  to  find  dry,  there  should  be  20 
such  a  deal  of  bog  land.  To  me,  an  English  boy,  quite 
unaccustomed  to  such  a  thing,  I  own  it  was  not  overpleas- 
ant.  On  I  plunged,  choosing  for  a  footing  the  greenest- 
looking  mosses,  and  always  rinding  them  the  deepest  in 
water.  But  I  was  too  proud  to  confess  the  fact,  so  noun-  25 
dered  silently  on,  seeing  the  other  lads  far  before  me.  At 
last  Norman  turned  and  shouted  for  me  to  come  on. 


184 

"Presently,"  I  answered,  putting  a  bold  face  on  the 
matter,  "  but  it 's  rather  bad  walking." 

It  certainly  was ;  I  being  just  then  busy  hunting  for  one 
of  my  shoes,  in  the  search  for  which  I  left  the  other  shoe 
5  behind  me. 

"  Come  on,  Phil !  "  shouted  the  boys  once  more. 

"  I  can't,"  cried  I,  piteously,  despair  at  last  subduing 
my  courage ;  "  I  've  lost  my  shoes  and  I  can't  walk  home 
barefoot.  Will  nobody  come  and  help  me  ? " 
10  "  What !  you  expect  us  to  go  back  through  all  the  bog  !  " 
Hector  replied,  from  near  the  top  of  the  hill.  "  Hurrah ! 
I  'm  out  of  the  moss  now,  and  it 's  such  a  beautiful  view. 
Make  haste,  boys." 

Very  easy  that  —  with  some  dozen  yards  nearly  impass- 
15  able  between  me  and  the  enviable  hilltop,  to  say  nothing 
of  the  lost  shoes !  Except  that  I  was  ashamed,  I  could 
have  sat  down  and  cried.  Once  I  thought  of  calling  for 
Norman,  but  then  I  did  not  care  so  very  much  for  him. 
Hector  was  my  chief  friend  and  Hector  had  deserted  me. 
20  However,  when  I  was  standing  sulky  and  disconsolate, 
looking  at  my  stockings  all  tramped  to  holes,  and  my 
trousers  wet  up  to  the  knees,  I  found  Norman  beside  me. 
He  had  come  all  the  way  without  my  asking  him. 

"  Well,  old  fellow,  and  what 's  to  be  clone  for  you  ?  Here 
25  has  Jamie  been  in  just  the  same  plight."  (Oh,  what  a  com- 
fort that  was  !)    "  Come,  cheer  up  !  never  mind." 

"  I  don't  mind,"  said  I,  proudly,  "if  I  could  but  find  my 


185 

shoes,  considering  that  I  have  n't  another  pair  and  am  not 
at  home  as  you  are."  And  I  began  to  think  mournfully 
how  my  poor  mother  had  charged  me  to  be  very  careful  of 
my  clothes,  since  she  was  not  rich  enough  to  buy  me  more 
for  a  long  time.  Horrible  visions  rose  up  of  my  having  5 
henceforward  to  go  about  barefoot,  like  the  little  ragged 
boys  I  so  despised.    It  was  an  accumulation  of  woes. 

Perhaps  Norman  saw  I  was  sulky,  for  he  tried  no  more 
consolation  except  in  a  practical  way.  He  said  nothing,  but 
cut  a  long  stick  from  a  fallen  tree  and  poked  about  in  all  10 
directions  for  a  dozen  yards,  until  at  last,  after  infinite 
patience,  he  found  my  shoes.  I  shall  never  forget  my  joy 
when  he  jokingly  exhibited  them,  one  stuck  upon  each 
prong  of  the  long  stick. 

"  Thank  you,  Norman,"  I  cried.  15 

"  Stop,  Phil ;  you  cannot  put  them  on.  See  how  soaked 
they  are  !  They  'd  be  the  death  of  you.  Come,  off  with 
your  stockings  too ;  put  them  in  your  pocket  and  sling 
your  shoes  over  your  shoulder  ;  then  you  '11  be  quite  sure 
not  to  lose  either."  20 

His  cheery  voice  and  manner  would  have  encouraged 
anybody  to  do  anything.  He  made  so  light  of  the  trouble 
too,  and  bore  his  part  of  it  —  for  he  had  got  desperately 
wet  —  so  uncomplainingly!  Before  I  knew  what  I  was 
about  I  found  myself  laughing  merrily,  —  stepping  from  25 
heather  tuft  to  heather  tuft  as  he  told  me,  —  and  at  last  we 
stood  in  safety  on  the  hilltop.  From  A  Hero 


186 


THE  BELL  BUOY 


Kudyard  Kipling 


Rudyard  Kipling,  one  of  the  foremost  English  writers  of  to-day,  was 

born  in  India  in  1865.    Besides  his  stories  of  life  in  India  and  his  books 

of  verse  he  is  the  author  of  The  Jungle  Book,  The  Second  Jungle  Book,  and 

Captains   Courageous,   which  are    widely  popular  among    young    readers. 

5  Mr.  Kipling  lived  in  Vermont  for  a  few  years. 

They  christened  my  brother  of  old  — 

And  a  saintly  name  he  bears  — 
They  gave  him  his  place  to  hold 

At  the  head  of  the  belfry  stairs, 
io  Where  the  minster  towers  stand 

And  the  breeding  kestrels  cry. 

Would  I  change  with  my  brother  a  league  inland  ? 
(Shoal !  '  Ware  shoal !)   Not  I ! 


187 

When  the  smoking  scud  is  blown, 

When  the  greasy  wind-rack  lowers, 
Apart  and  at  peace  and  alone, 

He  counts  the  changeless  hours. 

He  wars  with  darkling  Powers  5 

(I  war  with  a  darkling  sea) ; 

Would  he  stoop  to  my  work  in  the  gusty  mirk  ? 
{Shoal!  'Ware  shoal!)  Not  he! 

There  was  never  a  priest  to  pray, 

There  was  never  a  hand  to  toll,  10 

When  they  made  me  guard  of  the  bay, 

And  moored  me  over  the  shoal. 

I  rock,  I  reel,  and  I  roll  — 
My  four  great  hammers  ply  — 

Could  I  speak  or  be  still  at  the  Church's  will  ?  15 

(Shoal !  '  Ware  shoal !)  Not  I ! 

The  landward  marks  have  failed, 

The  fog  bank  glides  unguessed, 
The  seaward  lights  are  veiled, 

The  spent  deep  feigns  her  rest :  20 

But  my  ear  is  laid  to  her  breast, 
I  lift  to  the  swell  —  I  cry!* 

Could  I  wait  in  sloth  on  the  Church's  oath  ? 
(Shoal!  'Ware  shoal!)  Not  I ! 


188 

At  the  careless  end  of  night 

I  thrill  to  the  n earing  screw, 
I  turn  in  the  nearing  light 

And  I  call  to  the  drowsy  crew ; 
5  And  the  mud  boils  foul  and  blue 

As  the  blind  bow  backs  away. 

Will  they  give  me  their  thanks  if  they  clear  the 
banks  ? 
(Shoal !  '  Ware  shoal !)  Not  they ! 

10  The  beach  pools  cake  and  skim, 

The. bursting  spray-heads  freeze, 
I  gather  on  crown  and  rim 

The  gray,  grained  ice  of  the  seas, 
Where  sheathed  from  bitt  to  trees, 
is  The  plunging  colliers  lie. 

Would  I  barter  my  place  for  the  Church's  grace  ? 
(Shoal f  'Ware  shoal!)  Not  I ! 

Through  the  blur  of  the  whirling  snow, 
Or  the  black  of  the  inky  sleet, 
20  The  lanterns  gather  and  grow, 

And  I  look  for  the  homeward  fleet. 
Rattle  of  block  and  sheet  — 
"  Ready  about  —  stand  by !  " 

Shall  I  ask  them  a  fee  ere  they  fetch  the  quay  ? 
25  (Shoal !  '  Ware  shoal !)    Not  I ! 


189 

I  dip  and  I  surge  and  I  swing 

In  the  rip  of  the  racing  tide, 
By  the  gates  of  doom  I  sing. 

On  the  horns  of  death  I  ride. 

A  ship-length  overside,  5 

Between  the  course  and  the  sand, 

Fretted  and  bound  I  bide 
Peril  whereof  I  cry. 

Would  I  change  with  my  brother  a  league  inland  ? 
(Shoal !  '  Ware  shoal !)  Not  I !  10 

From  The  Five  Nations 

kestrel:  a  small,  slender,  European  hawk.  —  'ware:  beware.  —  moored 
me :  the  bell  is  mounted  on  a  large  float  and  rung  by  the  motion  of  the 
waves.  —  spent :  exhausted.  —  screw  :  the  propeller  of  a  steamer.  —  cake  : 
become  crusted.  —  bitts,  trees :  supporting  pieces  of  timber  on  a  ship's 
deck  and  at  the  top  of  the  mast.  —  colliers :  coal  vessels.  —  block  and  sheet : 
pulley  and  rope,  used  in  a  ship's  rigging.  —  fetch:  reach. —^ rip:  rush. — 
doom  :  destruction.  —  the  course  :  the  safe  track  for  a  vessel. 


190 

AT  SEA 

James  Russell  Lowell 

James  Russell  Lowell  (1819-1891)  was  one  of  America's  most  dis- 
tinguished men  of  letters.  As  a  poet,  essayist,  and  critic  his  writings  cover 
a  wide  range  and  are  notable  for  elegance  of  expression.  Among  his  best 
known  poems  are  The  Vision  of  Sir  Launfal  and  The  Biglow  Papers. 

5  The  most  beautiful  thing  I  have  seen  at  sea,  all  the  more 
so  that  I  had  never  heard  of  it,  is  the  trail  of  a  shoal  of 
fish  through  the  phosphorescent  water.  It  is  like  a  flight 
of  silver  rockets,  or  the  streaming  of  northern  lights 
through  that   silent  nether  heaven.    I    thought  nothing 

10  could  go  beyond  that  rustling  star  foam  which  was  churned 
up  by  our  ship's  bows,  or  those  eddies  and  disks  of  dreamy 
flame  that  rose  and  wandered  out  of  sight  behind  us. 

7T  was  fire  our  ship  was  plunging  through, 
Cold  fire  that  o'er  the  quarter  flew ; 
15  And  wandering  moons  of  idle  flame 

Grew  full  and  waned,  and  went  and  came, 
Dappling  with  light  the  huge  sea  snake 
That  slid  behind  us  in  the  wake. 

But  there  was  something  even  more  delicately  rare  in  the 
20  apparition  of  the  fish,  as  they  turned  up  in  gleaming  fur- 
rows the  latent  moonshine  which  the  ocean  seemed  to  have 
hoarded  against  these  vacant  interlunar  nights.  In  the 
Mediterranean  one  day,  as  we  were  lying  becalmed,  I 
observed  the  water  freckled  with  dingy  specks,  which  at 


191 

last  gathered  to  a  pinkish  scum  on  the  surface.  The  sea  had 
been  so  phosphorescent  for  some  nights,  that  when  the 
captain  gave  me  my  bath,  by  dousing  me  with  buckets 
from  the  house  on  deck,  the  spray  flew  off  my  head  and 
shoulders  in  sparks.  It  occurred  to  me  that  this  dirty-look-  5 
ing  scum  might  be  the  luminous  matter,  and  I  had  a  pail- 
ful dipped  up  to  keep  till  after  dark.  When  I  went  to  look 
at  it  after  nightfall,  it  seemed  at  first  perfectly  dead ;  but 
when  I  shook  it,  the  whole  broke  out  into  what  I  can  only 
liken  to  milky  flames,  whose  lambent  silence  was  strangely  10 
beautiful,  and  startled  me  almost  as  actual  projection  might 
an  alchemist.  I  could  not  bear  to  be  the  death  of  so  much 
beauty,  so  I  poured  it  all  overboard  again. 

In  the  ocean  horizon  I  took  untiring  delight.  It  is  the 
true  magic  circle  of  expectation  and  conjecture,  almost  15 
as  good  as  a  wishing  ring.  What  will  rise  over  that  edge 
we  sail  toward  daily  and  never  overtake  ?  a  sail  ?  an 
island?  the  new  shore  of  the  Old  World?  Something 
rose  even'  da}'  which  I  need  not  have  gone  so  far  to  see, 
but  at  whose  levee  I  was  a  much  more  faithful  courtier  20 
than  on  shore.  A  cloudless  sunrise  in  mid-ocean  is  beyond 
comparison  for  simple  grandeur.  It  is  like  Dante's  style, 
bare  and  perfect. 

The  geographies  of  our  ancestors  were  works  of  fancy  and 
imagination.    They  read  poems  where  we  yawn  over  items.  25 
It  was  easy  enough  to  believe  the  story  of  Dante,  when 
two  thirds  of  even  the  upper  world  were  yet  untraversed 


192 

and  unmapped.  With  every  step  of  the  recent  traveler 
our  inheritance  of  the  wonderful  is  diminished.  Where  is 
the  roc  whose  eggs  are  possibly  bowlders,  needing  no  far- 
fetched theory  of  glacier  or  iceberg  to  account  for  them  ? 
5  Where  the  unicorn,  with  that  single  horn  of  his,  sover- 
eign against  all  manner  of  poisons  ?  Where  the  Fountain 
of  Youth  ?  All  these  and  a  thousand  others  we  have  lost 
and  have  got  nothing  instead  of  them. 

Year  by  year,  more  and  more  of  the  world  gets  disen- 

10  chanted.  Even  the  icy  privacy  of  the  arctic  and  antarctic 
circles  is  invaded.  Everything  is  accounted  for,  every- 
thing cut  and  dried,  and  the  world  may  be  put  together 
as  easily  as  the  fragments  of  a  dissected  map.  The  mys- 
terious bounds  nothing  now  on  the  north,  south,  east,  or 

15  west.    We  have  played  Jack  Horner  with  our  earth  until 

there  is  never  a  plum  left  in  it. 

Abridged  from  Fireside  Travels 

phosphorescence :  the  state  of  being  luminous  or  giving  out  light.    Sea 
water  is  often  phosphorescent  from  the  light  given  out  by  the  bodies  of  tiny 

marine  animals.  —  nether  :  lower quarter  :  the  side  of  a  ship  between  the 

middle  portion  and  the  stern.  — idle  :  not  active,  ineffectual.  —  wake  :  the 
track  left  by  a  ship  in  the  water.  —  latent :  hidden.  —  interlunar  :  between 
the  periods  of  moonlight.  —  lambent :  gleaming.  —  projection  :  the  critical 
point  of  a  chemical  experiment.  —  alchemist :  one  who  professes  to  be  able 

to  turn  other  metals  into  gold  by  a  chemical  process levee  (le  ve')  :  a 

morning  reception  held  by  a  prince.  —  Dante  (dan'tg) :  a  great  Italian  poet 
who  wrote  of  his  imaginary  journey  to  the  underworld  and  to  the  celestial 
regions. — roc:  a  mythical  bird  of  great  size  whose  eggs  were  said  to  be 
several  feet  in  diameter.  —  unicorn :  a  fabled  creature  having  only  one 
horn.  —  sovereign  :  efficacious. 


193 
JUNE 

James   Russell  Lowell 

Now  is  the  high  tide  of  the  year, 

And  whatever  of  life  hath  ebbed  away 
Comes  flooding  back  with  a  ripply  cheer, 

Into  every  bare  inlet  and  creek  and  bay ; 
Now  the  heart  is  so  full  that  a  drop  overfills  it,  5 

We  are  happy  now  because  God  wills  it ; 
No  matter  how  barren  the  past  may  have  been, 
'T  is  enough  for  us  now  that  the  leaves  are  green  ; 
We  sit  in  the  warm  shade  and  feel  right  well 
How  the  sap  creeps  up  and  the  blossoms  swell ;  10 

We  may  shut  our  eyes,  but  we  cannot  help  knowing 
That  skies  are  clear  and  grass  is  growing ; 
The  breeze  comes  whispering  in  our  ear, 
That  dandelions  are  blossoming  near, 

That  maize  has  sprouted,  that  streams  are  flowing,      15 
That  the  river  is  bluer  than  the  sky, 
That  the  robin  is  plastering  his  house  hard  by ; 
And  if  the  breeze  kept  the  good  news  back, 
For  other  couriers  we  should  not  lack ; 

We  could  guess  it  all  by  yon  heifer's  lowing,  —  20 

And  hark !  how  clear  bold  chanticleer, 
Warmed  with  the  new  wine  of  the  year, 

Tells  all  in  his  lusty  crowing ! 


194 
THE  HOMEWARD  RUN1 

Eudyard  Kipling 

Note.  The  crew  of  the  Gloucester  fishing  schooner  We  're  Here,  hav- 
ing finished  a  successful  season  off  the  Banks  and  packed  their  vessel  with 
fish,  are  preparing  to  hoist  sail  for  home.  Disko  Troop  is  the  captain, 
Dan  is  his  son,  and  Harvey  is  a  lad  whom  they  rescued  at  sea  at  the 
5  beginning  of  their  trip.  Harvey's  adventures,  from  the  day  he  falls  over- 
board from  an  ocean  steamer  to  the  time  of  his  return,  are  told  in  enter- 
taining fashion  in  Captains  Courageous. 

At  ten  in  the  morning  Disko  began  hauling  out  the  big 
mainsail.    By  noon  the  riding  sail  was  down,  and  the  main- 

10  sail  and  topsail  were  up,'  and  dories  came  alongside  with 
letters  for  home,  envying  their  good  fortune.  At  last  the 
We  We  Here  cleared  decks,  hoisted  her  flag,  —  as  is  the 
right  of  the  first  boat  off  the  Banks,  —  up-anchored,  and 
began  to  move.    Disko  pretended  that  he  wished  to  ac- 

15  commodate  folk  who  had  not  sent  in  their  mail,  and  so 
worked  her  gracefully  in  and  out  among  the  schooners. 
In  reality  that  was  his  little  triumphant  procession,  and 
for  the  fifth  year  running  it  showed  what  kind  of  mariner 
he  was. 

20  The  last  letters  pitched  on  deck,  wrapped  round  pieces 
of  coal,  and  the  Gloucester  men  shouted  messages  to  their 
wives  and  women  folk  and  owners,  while  the  We  We  Here 
finished  the  ride  through  the  fleet,  her  headsails  quivering 
like  a  man's  hand  when  he  raises  it  to  say  good-by. 

1  Copyright,  1896,  1897,  by  Rudyard  Kipling. 


195 

Harvey  very  soon  discovered  that  the  We  We  Here,  with 
her  riding  sail,  strolling  from  berth  to  berth,  and  the  We  We 
Here,  headed  west  by  south  under  home  canvas,  were  two 
very  different  boats.  There  was  a  bite  and  kick  to  the 
wheel  even  in  "  boys'  "  weather ;  he  could  feel  the  dead  5 
weight  in  the  hold  flung  forward  mightily  across  the 
surges,  and  the  streaming  line  of  bubbles  overside  made 
his  eyes  dizzy. 

Disko  kept  them  busy  fiddling  with  the  sails,  and  when 
those  were  flattened  like  a  racing  yacht's,  Dan  had  to  wait  10 
on  the  big  topsail,  which  was  put  over  by  hand  every  time 
she  went  about.  In  spare  moments  they  pumped,  for  the 
packed  fish  dripped  brine,  which  does  not  improve  a  cargo. 
But  since  there  was  no  fishing,  Harvey  had  time  to  look 
on  the  sea  from  another  point  of  view.  The  low-sided  15 
schooner  was  naturally  on  most  intimate  terms  with  her 
surroundings.  They  saw  little  of  the  horizon  save  when 
she  topped  a  swell ;  and  usually  she  was  elbowing,  fidget- 
ing, and  coaxing  her  steadfast  way  through  gray,  gray- 
blue,  or  black  hollows  laced  across  and  across  with  streaks  20 
of  shivering  foam ;  or  rubbing  herself  caressingly  along 
the  flank  of  some  bigger  water  hill.  It  was  as  if  she  said : 
"  You  would  n't  hurt  me,  surely  ?  I  'm  only  the  little  We  We 
Here."  Then  she  would  slide  away,  chuckling  softly  to 
herself,  till  she  was  brought  up  by  some  fresh  obstacle.  25 

The  dullest  of  folk  cannot  see  this  kind  of  thing  hour 
after  hour  through  long  days  without  noticing  it,   and 


196 

Harvey,  being  anything  but  dull,  began  to  comprehend 
and  enjoy  the  dry  chorus  of  wave  tops  turning  over  with 
a  sound  of  incessant  tearing;  the  hurry  of  the  winds 
working  across  open  spaces  and  herding  the  purple-blue 

5  cloud  shadows ;  the  splendid  upheaval  of  the  red  sunrise ; 
the  folding  and  packing  away  of  the  morning  mists,  wall 
after  wall  withdrawn  across  the  white  floors ;  the  salty 
glare  and  blaze  of  noon ;  the  kiss  of  rain  falling  over 
thousands  of  dead,  flat,  square  miles ;  the   chilly  black- 

10  ening  of  everything  at  the  day's  end  ;  and  the  million 
wrinkles  of  the  sea  under  the  moonlight,  when  the  jib 
boom  solemnly  poked  at  the  low  stars,  and  Harvey  went 
down  to  get  a  doughnut  from  the  cook. 

But  the  best  fun  was  when  the  boys  were  put  on  the 

15  wheel  together,  and  she  cuddled  her  lee  rail  down  to  the 
crashing  blue  and  kept  a  little  homemade  rainbow  arch- 
ing unbroken  over  her  windlass.  Then  the  jaws  of  the 
booms  whined  against  the  masts,  and  the  sheets  creaked, 
and  the  sails  filled  with  roaring ;  and  when  she  slid  into  a 

20  hollow  she  trampled  like  a  woman  tripped  in  her  own  silk 
dress,  and  came  out,  her  jib  wet  halfway  up,  yearning 
and  peering  for  the  tall  twin  lights  of  Thatcher's  Island.  .  . . 

Disko  wiped  the  wet  from  his  eyes  and  led  the   We  We 
Here  to  the  wharf,  giving  his  orders  in  whispers,  while 
25  she  swung  round  moored  tugs,  and  night  watchmen  hailed 
her  from  the  ends  of  inky-black  piers. 


197 


198 

Over  and  above  the  darkness  and  the  mystery  of  the 
procession  Harvey  could  feel  the  land  close  round  him 
once  more,  with  all  its  thousands  of  people  asleep,  and 
the  smell  of  earth  after  rain,  and  the  familiar  noise  of  a 

5  switching  engine  coughing  to  herself  in  a  freight  yard. 
They  heard  the  anchor  watch  snoring  on  a  lighthouse  tug, 
nosed  into  a  pocket  of  darkness  where  a  lantern  glimmered 
on  either  side  ;  somebody  waked  with  a  grunt,  threw  them 
a  rope,  and  they  made  fast  to  a  silent  wharf  flanked  with 

10  great  iron-roofed  sheds  full  of  warm  emptiness,  and  lay 
there  without  a  sound. 

riding  sail :  a  sail  used  to  steady  a  vessel  while  she  is  at  anchor  or  mov- 
ing slowly dories:    small  rowboats  with  high  sides. — the  Banks:    a 

locality  off  the  southern  coast  of  Newfoundland,  famous  for  its  quanti- 
ties of  codfish.  —  headsails  :  the  sails  in  the  fore  part  of  the  vessel.  — 
berth :  a  fishing  place.  —  boys'  weather :  weather  in  which  even  a  boy 
could  manage  a  boat.  —  fiddling  :  fussing.  —  went  about :  changed  her 
direction.  —  jib  boom  :  the  spar  on  which  the  forward  sail  or  jib  is  spread. 

—  lee  rail :   lower   rail.  —  sheets  :    ropes anchor  watch  :    one  or   more 

sailors  in  charge  of  a  ship  at  anchor.  —  pocket :  a  dark  place  or  slip. 


199 
THE  FORSAKEN  MERMAN. 

Matthew  Arnold 

Matthew  Arnold  (1822-1888)  was  a  famous  English  critic,  essayist, 
and  poet.    The  following  lines  are  taken  from  one  of  his  best-known  poems- 
Come,  dear  children,  let  us  away ; 
Down  and  away  below  ! 

Now  my  brothers  call  from  the  bay,  5 

Now  the  great  winds  shoreward  blow, 
Now  the  salt  tides  seaward  flow ; 
Now  the  wild  white  horses  play, 
Champ  and  chafe  and  toss  in  the  spray. 
Children  dear,  let  us  away  !  10 

This  way,  this  way! 

Call  her  once  before  you  go  — 

Call  once  yet ! 

In  a  voice  that  she  will  know : 

"  Margaret !  Margaret !  "  15 

Children's  voices  should  be  dear 

(Call  once  more)  to  a  mother's  ear ; 

Children's  voices,  wild  with  pain  — 

Surely  she  will  come  again ! 

Call  her  once,  and  come  away ;  20 

This  way,  this  way ! 

"  Mother  dear,  we  cannot  stay  ! 


200 


10 


16 


The  wild  white  horses  foam  and  fret." 
Margaret !  Margaret ! 

Come,  dear  children,  come  away  down. 

Call  no  more. 

One  last  look  at  the  white-walled  town, 

And  the  little  gray  church  on  the  windy  shore ; 

Then  come  down ! 

She  will  not  come  though  you  call  all  day ; 

Come  away,  come  away ! 

Children  dear,  was  it  yesterday 

We  heard  the  sweet  bells  over  the  bay  ? 

In  the  caverns  where  we  lay, 

Through  the  surf  and  through  the  swell, 

The  far-off  sound  of  a  silver  bell  ? 

Sand-strewn  caverns,  cool  and  deep, 


201 

Where  the  winds  are  all  asleep ; 

Where  the  spent  lights  quiver  and  gleam, 

Where  the  salt  weed  sways  in  the  stream, 

Where  the  sea  beasts,  ranged  all  round, 

Feed  in  the  ooze  of  their  pasture  ground ;  5 

Where  the  sea  snakes  coil  and  twine, 

Dry  their  mail  and  bask  in  the  brine ; 

Where  great  whales  come  sailing  by, 

Sail  and  sail,  with  unshut  eye, 

Round  the  world  forever  and  aye  ?  10 

When  did  music  come  this  way  ? 

Children  dear,  was  it  yesterday  ? 

Children  dear,  was  it  yesterday 

(Call  yet  once)  that  she  went  away  ?    . 

Once  she  sate  with  you  and  me,  15 

On  a  red  gold  throne  in  the  heart  of  the  sea, 

And  the  youngest  sate  on  her  knee. 

She  combed  its  bright  hair,  and  she  tended  it  well, 

When  down  swung  the  sound  of  a  far-off  bell. 

She  sighed,  she  looked  up  through  the  clear  green  sea ;  20 

She  said  :  "  I  must  go,  for  my  kinsfolk  pray 

In  the  little  gray  church  on  the  shore  to-day. 

'T  will  be  Easter-time  in  the  world  —  ah,  me  ! 

And  I  lose  my  poor  soul,  Merman,  here  with  thee." 

I  said  :  "  Go  up,  dear  heart,  through  the  waves ;  25 

Say  thy  prayer,  and  come  back  to  the  kind  sea  caves." 


202 

She  smiled,  she  went  up  through  the  surf  in  the  bay. 
Children  dear,  was  it  yesterday  ?  .  .  . 

But,  children,  at  midnight, 

When  soft  the  winds  blow, 
5  When  clear  falls  the  moonlight, 

When  spring  tides  are  low ; 

When  sweet  airs  come  seaward 

From  heaths  starred  with  broom ; 

And  high  rocks  throw  mildly 
10  On  the  blanched  sands  a  gloom  : 

Up  the  still,  glistening  beaches, 

Up  the  creeks  we  will  hie, 

Over  banks  of  bright  seaweed 

The  ebb  tide  leaves  dry. 
15  We  will  gaze  from  the  sand  hills 

At  the  white  sleeping  town ; 

At  the  church  on  the  hillside  — 

And  then  come  back  down, 

Singing  :  "  There  dwells  a  loved  one, 
20  But  cruel  is  she  ! 

She  left  lonely  for  ever 

The  kings  of  the  sea." 

merman :  a  fabulous  man  of  the  sea,  supposed  to  have  human  feelings 
and  affections.  —  white  horses  :  the  foam  tossed  by  the  waves  as  they  break 
on  the  shore.  This  comparison  has  always  been  a  favorite  poetical  figure.  — 
mail:  scaly  covering,  like  armor.  —  aye  (a)  :  ever.  — sate  (sat)  :  sat. 


203 
COLONEL  NEWCOME  AND  HIS  SON 

William  Makepeace  Thackeray 

Note.    Colonel  Xewcome,  after  an  absence  of  seven  years,  has  returned 
from  India  and  is  about  to  enjoy  a  holiday  with  his  son  Clive. 

Colonel  Newcome  dismissed  his  cab  at  Ludgate  Hill 
and  walked  thence  by  the  dismal  precincts  of  Newgate 
and  across  the  muddy  pavement  of  Smithfield  on  his  way   5 
back  to  the  old  school  where  his  son  was,  a  way  which  he 
had  trodden  many  a  time  in  his  own  early  days. 

A  great  noise  of  shouting,  crying,  treble  voices,  bass 
voices,  poured  out  of  the  schoolboys'  windows :  their  life, 
bustle,  and  gayety  contrasted  strangely  with  the  quiet  of  10 
the  old  pensioners  creeping  along  in  their  black  gowns 
under  the  ancient  arches.    There  was  Thomas  Newcome, 
arrived  at  the  middle  of  life,  standing  between  the  shout- 
ing boys  and  the  tottering  seniors,  and  in  a  situation  to 
moralize  upon  both,  had  not  his  son  Clive,  who  has  espied  15 
him  from  within  Mr.  Hopkinson's,  or  let  us  say  at  once 
Hopkey's  home,  come  jumping  down  the  steps  to  greet  his 
sire.    Schoolfellows,    grinning  through  the    bars,    envied 
him  as  he  walked  away ;  senior  boys  made  remarks  on 
Colonel  Newcome's  loose  clothes  and  long  mustaches,  his  20 
brown  hands  and  unbrushed  hat. 

„   "  Tell  me  about  your  uncles,  Clive,"  said  the  Colonel,  as 
they  walked  on  arm  in  arm. 


204 

"  What  about  them,  sir  ?  "  asks  the  boy.  "  I  don't  think 
I  know  much." 

"You  have  been  to  stay  with  them.  You  wrote  about 
them.    Were  they  kind  to  you  ?  " 

5      "  Oh,  yes,  1  suppose  they  are  very  kind  ;  only  you  know 

when  I  go  there  I  scarcely  ever  see  them.    Mr.  Newcome 

asks  me  the  oftenest,  and  he  always  gives  me  a  sovereign." 

"  Well,  he  must  see  you  to  give  you  the  sovereign," 

says  Olive's  father,  laughing. 

10      The  boy  blushed  rather. 

"Yes.  When  it's  time  to  go  back  to  Smithneld  on  a 
Sunday  night  I  go  into  the  dining  room  to  shake  hands, 
but  he  doesn't  speak  to  me  much.  And  I  don't  care  about 
going  to  Bryanstone  Square  because  I  am  made  to  dine 

15  with  the  children  and  a  great  cross  French  governess  who 
is  always  shrieking  after  them  and  finding  fault  with 
them.  And  you  see,  though  Aunt  Hobson  is  very  kind 
and  all  that,  I  don't  think  she  's  what  you  call  comme  il 
fautr 

20  "  Why,  how  are  you  to  judge  ?  "  asks  the  father,  amused 
at  the  lad's  candid  prattle,  "  and  where  does  the  differ- 
ence lie  ?  " 

"  I  can't  tell  you  what  it  is,  or  how  it  is,"  the  boy 
answered,   "only  one    can't   help    seeing  the    difference. 

25  There  are  some  men  gentlemen  and  some  not,  and  some 
women  ladies  and  some  not.  There  's  Jones  now,  the  fifth- 
form   schoolmaster ;   every  man  sees    he 's   a  gentleman, 


205 

though  he  wears  ever  so  old  clothes.  And  there 's  Mr. 
Brown,  who  oils  his  hair  and  wears  rings  and  white 
chokers — my  eyes  !  such  white  chokers  ! — and  yet  we  call 
him  the  handsome  snob.  And  so  about  Aunt  Maria ;  she's 
very  handsome  and  she  's  very  finely  dressed,  only  some-  5 
how  she  's  not  —  she  's  not  the  ticket,  you  see." 

"  Oh,  she 's  not  the  ticket,"  says  the  Colonel,  much 
amused. 

"Well,  what  I  mean  is  —  but  never  mind,"  says  the 
boy,  "  I  can't  tell  you  what  I  mean.  I  don't  like  to  make  10 
fun  of  her,  you  know,  for  after  all  she  is  very  kind  to  me ; 
but  Aunt  Ann  is  different,  and  it  seems  as  if  what  she  said 
is  more  natural.  And,  do  you  know,  I  often  think  that  as 
good  a  lady  as  Aunt  Ann  is  old  Aunt  Honeyman  at 
Brighton.  For  she  is  not  proud,  and  she  is  not  vain,  and  16 
she  never  says  an  unkind  word  behind  anybody's  back, 
and  she  is  not  a  bit  ashamed  of  being  poor,  as  sometimes 
I  think  some  of  our  family  —  " 

"I  thought  we  were  going  to  speak  no  ill  of  them," 
says  the  Colonel,  smiling.  20 

u  Well,  it  only  slipped  out  unawares,"  says  Clive,  laugh- 
ing ;  "  but  at  Newcome,  when  they  go  on  about  the  New- 
comes,  and  Barnes  Newcome  gives  himself  airs,  it  makes 
me  die  of  laughing.  That  time  I  went  to  see  old  Aunt 
Sarah  she  told  me  everything  and  showed  me  the  room  25 
where  she  and  my  grandfather  worked  in  the  mill,  and  I 
was  a  little  hurt  at  first.   And  when  I  came  back  to  school, 


206 

where  perhaps  I  had  been  giving  myself  airs,  I  thought  it 

was  right  to  tell  the  fellows." 

"  That 's    a    man ! "    cries    the    Colonel    with    delight. 

"  That 's  a  man !   Never  be  ashamed  of  your  father,  Clive." 

5      "  Ashamed  of  my  father !  "  says  Clive,  looking  up  at 

him  and  walking  on  as  proud  as  a  peacock. 

"  I  say,"  the  lad  resumed  after  a  pause. 

u  Say  what  you  say,"  said  the  father. 

Ci  Is  that  all  true  about  the  Newcome  who  was  burned 

10  at  Smithfield  ?  about  the  one  who  was  at  the  battle  of 

Bosworth  ?   and  the  old  Newcome  who  was  surgeon  to 

Edward  the  Confessor  and  was  killed  at  Hastings  ?    I  am 

afraid  it  is  n't,  and  yet  I  should  like  it  to  be  true." 

"  I  think  every  man  would  like  to  come  of  an  ancient 

15  and  honorable  race,"  said  the  Colonel,  in  his  honest  way. 

"  As.  you  like  your  father  to  be  an  honorable  man,  why 

not  your  grandfather  and  his  ancestors  before  him  ?    But 

if  we  can't  inherit  a  good  name,  at  least  we  can  do  our 

best  to  leave  one,  my  boy ;  and  that  is  an  ambition  which, 

20  please  God,  you  and  I  will  both  hold  by." 

From  The  Newcomes 

Ludgate  Hill:  a  busy  street  in  London. — Newgate:  an  ancient  prison. 
—  Smithfield:  once  a  London  district.  —  the  old  school:  Charter  House 
School,  where  Thackeray  went  himself.  —  pensioners:  old  pupils  living  at 

the  school.  —  sovereign  :  a  gold  coin  worth  $1.84 comme  il  faut  (kom  el 

fo)  :  belonging  to  good  society.  —  fifth  form :  an  English  school  grade.  — 
Bosworth :  a  famous  battlefield  of  England.  —  Edward  the  Confessor :  one 
of  the  early  English  kings.  —  Hastings  :  the  great  battle  in  which  England 
was  conquered  by  the  Normans. 


207 


Copyright,  Detroit  Publishing  Company 


AMERICA  THE  BEAUTIFUL 


Katharine  Lee  Bates 


Katharine  Lee  Bates  is  an  American  writer  and  educator. 


0  beautiful  for  spacious  skies, 

For  amber  waves  of  grain, 
For  purple  mountain  majesties 

Above  the  fruited  plain  ! 
America !  America ! 

God  shed  his  grace  on  thee 
And  crown  thy  good  with  brotherhood 

From  sea  to  shining  sea ! 


208 

0  beautiful  for  pilgrim  feet, 

Whose  stern,  impassioned  stress 
A  thoroughfare  for  freedom  beat 

Across  the  wilderness ! 
5  America !  America ! 

God  mend  thine  every  flaw, 
Confirm  thy  soul  in  self-control. 

Thy  liberty  in  law ! 

0  beautiful  for  heroes  proved 
10  In  liberating  strife, 

Who  more  than  self  their  country  loved, 
And  mercy  more  than  life  ! 

America  !  America ! 
May  God  thy  gold  refine, 
15  Till  all  success  be  nobleness, 

And  every  gain  divine  ! 

0  beautiful  for  patriot  dream 
That  sees  beyond  the  years 
Thine  alabaster  cities  gleam 
20  Immaculate  of  tears  ! 

America !  America ! 
God  shed  his  grace  on  thee 
And  crown  thy  good  with  brotherhood 
From  sea  to  shining  sea ! 


209 
THE  RESCUE  OF  THE  SHEEP 

Richard  D.   Blackmore 

Richard  D.  Blackmore  (1825-1900)  was  an  English  novelist  of  marked 
originality  and  power.  Lorna  Boone,  from  which  this  selection  is  taken, 
is  one  of  the  most  popular  of  English  novels. 

It  must  have  snowed  most  wonderfully  to  have  made 
that  depth  of  covering  in  about  eight  hours.  And  here  it  5 
was,  blockiug  up  the  doors  and  stopping  the  ways  and 
the  water  courses.  However,  we  trudged  along  in  a  line ; 
I  first  and  the  other  men  after  me,  trying  to  keep  my 
track,  but  finding  legs  and  strength  not  up  to  it.  All  this 
time  it  was  snowing  harder  than  it  had  ever  snowed  before,  10 
so  far  as  a  man  might  guess  at  it  ;  and  the  leaden  depth 
of  the  sky  came  down,  like  a  mine  turned  upside  down  on 
us.  Not  that  the  flakes  were  so  very  large,  but  that  there 
was  no  room  between  them,  neither  any  relaxing  nor  any 
change  of  direction.  15 

Watch,  like  a  good  and  faithful  dog,  followed  us  very 
cheerfully,  leaping  out  of  the  depth,  which  took  him  over 
his  back  and  ears  already,  even  in  the  level  places ;  while 
in  the  drifts  he  might  have  sunk  to  any  distance  out  of 
sight,  and  never  found  his  way  up  again.  However,  we  20 
helped  him  now  and  then,  especially  through  the  gaps  and 
gateways;  and  so,  after  a  deal  of  floundering  and  some 
laughter,  we  came  all  safe  to  the  lower  meadow,  where 
most  of  our  flock  was  hurdled. 


210 

But,  behold,  there  was  no  flock  at  all !  None,  I  mean, 
to  be  seen  anywhere ;  only  at  one  corner  of  the  field,  by 
the  eastern  end,  where  the  snow  drove  in,  a  great  white 
billow  as  high  as  a  barn  and  as  broad  as  a  house.    Ever 

5  and  again  the  tempest  snatched  little  whiffs  from  the 
channeled  edges,  twirled  them  round  and  made  them  dance 
over  the  monster  pile,  then  let  them  lie  like  herring  bones, 
or  the  seams  of  sand  where  the  tide  has  been.  And  all  the 
while,  from  the  smothering  sky,  more  and  more  fiercely  at 

10  every  blast,  came  the  pelting,  pitiless  arrows,  winged  with 
murky  white  and  pointed  with  the  barbs  of  frost. 

But  although,  for  people  who  had  no  sheep,  the  sight 
was  a  very  fine  one  (so  far,  at  least,  as  the  weather  per- 
mitted any  sight  at  all),  yet  for  us,  with  our  flock  beneath 

15  it,  this  great  mount  had  but  little  charm.  Watch  began  to 
scratch  at  once,  and  to  howl  along  the  sides  of  it ;  he  knew 
that  his  charge  was  buried  there  and  his  business  taken 
from  him.  But  we  four  men  set  to  in  earnest,  digging  with 
all  our  might  and  main,  shoveling  away  at  that  great  white 

20  pile  and  fetching  it  into  the  meadow.  Each  man  made 
for  himself  a  cave,  scooping  at  the  soft,  cold  mass,  which 
slid  upon  him  at  every  stroke,  and  throwing  it  out  behind 
him  in  piles  of  castled  fancy.  At  last  we  drove  our  tunnels 
in  (for  we  worked,  indeed,  for  the  lives  of  us),  and  all  con- 

25  verging  toward  the  middle,  held  our  tools  and  listened. 
The  other  men  heard  nothing  at  all,  or  declared  that 
they  heard  nothing,  being  anxious  now  to  abandon  the 


211 

matter,  because  of  the  chill  in  their  feet  and  knees.  But  I 
said  :  "  Go,  if  you  choose,  all  of  you.  I  will  work  it  out  by 
myself  "  ;  and  upon  that  they  gripped  their  shovels. 

But  before  we  began  again  I  laid  my  head  well  into  the 
chamber,  and  there  I  heard  a  faint  ma-a-ah  coming  5 
through  the  snow,  like  a  plaintive,  buried  hope  or  a  last 
appeal.  I  shouted  aloud  to  cheer  him  up,  for  I  knew  what 
sheep  it  was.  And  then  we  all  fell  to  again,  and  very  soon 
we  hauled  him  out.  Watch  took  charge  of  him  at  once, 
with  an  air  of  the  noblest  patronage,  lying  on  his  frozen  10 
fleece,  and  licking  all  his  face  and  feet,  to  restore  his 
warmth  to  him.  Soon  Fighting  Tom  jumped  up  and  made 
a  little  butt  at  Watch,  as  if  nothing  had  ever  ailed  him, 
and  then  set  off  to  a  shallow  place  and  looked  for  some- 
thing to  nibble  at.  15 

Farther  in,  and  close  under  the  bank,  where  they  had 
huddled  themselves  for  warmth,  we  found  all  the  rest  of 
the  poor  sheep,  packed  as  closely  as  if  they  were  in  a 
great  pie.  It  was  strange  to  observe  how  their  vapor  and 
breath  and  the  moisture  exuding  from  their  wool  had  20 
scooped  a  room  for  them,  lined  with  a  ribbing  of  deep 
yellow  snow.  Also  the  churned  snow  beneath  their  feet 
was  as  yellow  as  gamboge. 

"  However  shall  we  get  them  home?"  John  Fry  asked 
in  great  dismay,  when  we  had  cleared  about  a  dozen  of  25 
them,  which  we  were  forced  to  do  very  carefully,  so  as 
not  to  fetch  the  roof  down. 


212 

"You  see  to  this  place,  John/'  I  replied,  as  we  leaned 
on  our  shovels  a  moment  and  the  sheep  came  rubbing 
round  us.  "  Let  no  more  of  them  out  for  the  present ;  they 
are  better  where  they  are.  Watch !  here,  boy,  keep  them  !  " 
5  Watch  came,  with  his  little  scut  of  a  tail  cocked  as 
sharp  as  duty,  and  I  set  him  at  the  narrow  mouth  of  the 
great  snow  antre.  All  the  sheep  sidled  away  and  got 
closer,  that  the  other  sheep  might  be  bitten  first,  as  the 
foolish  things  'imagine ;  whereas  no  good  sheep  dog  even 

10  so  much  as  lips  a  sheep  to  turn  it. 

Then  of  the  outer  sheep  (all  now  snowed  and  frizzled 
like  a  lawyer's  wig)  I  took  the  two  finest  and  heaviest, 
and  with  one  beneath  my  right  arm  and  the  other  beneath 
my  left,  I  went  straight  home  to  the  upper  fold,  and  set 

15  them  inside  and  fastened  them.  Sixty-and-six  I  took  home 
in  that  way,  two  at  a  time  on  each  journey ;  and  the  work 
grew  harder  and  harder  each  time,  as  the  drifts  of  the 
snow  were  deepening.  No  other  man  should  meddle  with 
them;   I  was  resolved  to   try  my  strength   against  the 

20  strength  of  the  elements ;  and  try  it  I  did,  ay,  and  proved 
it.  A  certain  fierce  delight  burned  in  me  as  the  struggle 
grew  harder,  but  rather  would  I  die  than  yield,  and  at  last 
I  finished  it.  People  talk  of  it  to  this  day,  but  none  can  tell 
what  the  labor  was  who  has  not  felt  that  snow  and  wind. 

gamboge' :  a  reddish-yellow  gum  produced  by  several  trees  in  southern 
Asia.  —  scut :  the  tail  of  a  hare  or  a  deer.  —  antre  (an'ter)  :  a  cavern.  —  a 
lawyer's  wig :  in  England  lawyers  in  court  wear  curled  white  wigs. 


213 

THE  HUNTING  OF  THE  CHEVIOT 
The  First  Fytte 

[This  famous  old  ballad  is  one  of  the  most  spirited  in  all  literature. 
Sir  Philip  Sidney  says  of  it,  "I  never  heard  the  old  song  of  Percy  aDd 
Douglas  that  I  found  not  my  heart  more  moved  than  with  a  trumpet." 
Ben  Jonson  said  that  he  would  rather  have  written  it  than  all  his  works. 

In  its  inferior  version,  known  as  Chevy  Chase,  it  was  the  most  popular    5 
ballad  in  seventeenth-century  England.    Addison  devoted  two  papers  in 
the  Spectator  to  its  praise. 

As  regards  the  subject  of  the  ballad,  the  rivalry  between  the  houses  of 
Percy  and  Douglas  was  sufficient  to  serve  as  a  foundation  for  the  story, 
which  has,  however,  no  historical  value.  It  was  a  law  that  the  families  of  10 
the  Marches,  or  the  border  district  between  England  and  Scotland,  should 
not  hunt  in  each  other's  domains,  and  doubtless  many  petty  skirmishes 
took  place  in  consequence. 

The  date  of  the  ballad  is  uncertain.  It  was  considered  old  in  the  six- 
teenth century,  and  its  rough  form  tells  of  its  early  origin.  The  translator  15 
has  followed  the  original  as  closely  as  the  desire  to  make  it  thoroughly 
readable  permits.  Several  stanzas  were  omitted,  and  liberties  were  taken 
with  one  or  two  that  would  not  be  warranted  under  other  conditions.  It  is 
to  be  hoped  that  an  interest  may  be  roused  in  the  old  ballad  itself,  which, 
with  all  its  uneven  lines  and  doubtful  rhymes,  is  worthy  of  careful  study.]  20 

Note.  This  and  other  early  ballads  were  sung  and  told  for  many  years 
before  they  were  written  down. 

The  Percy  came  out  of  Northumberland 

And  a  vow  to  God  made,  he, 
That  he  would  hunt  in  the  mountains  25 

Of  Cheviot  within  days  three, 
In  spite  of  the  doughty  Douglas 

And  all  that  might  with  him  be. 


214 

The  fattest  harts  in  all  the  land 

He  would  kill  and  carry  away. 
"  By  my  faith/'  said  the  doughty  Douglas  then, 

"  I  will  let  that  hunting,  if  I  may." 

5  The  Percy  out  of  Bamborough  came, 

With  him  a  mighty  meany ; 
With  fifteen  hundred  archers  bold ; 
That  were  chosen  out  of  shires  three. 

This  began  in  Cheviot  the  hills  aboon, 
10  Early  on  a  Monenday  ; 

And  when  it  drew  to  the  hour  of  noon, 
A  hundred  fat  harts  dead  there  lay.  .  .  . 

At  last  a  squire  of  Northumberland 
Looked  at  his  hand  full  nigh, 
15  And  saw  the  doughty  Douglas  coming, 

With  him  a  mighty  meany. 

Armed  with  spear  and  bill  and  brand, 

It  was  a  sight  to  see ; 
Hardier  men,  of  heart  or  of  hand, 
20  Were  not  in  Christiante. 

There  were  twenty  hundred  spearmen  good, 

Withoute  any  fail, 
That  were  born  beside  the  water  of  Tweed 

In  the  bounds  of  Tividale.  .  .  . 


215 

The  doughty  Douglas  on  a  steed 
Kode  all  his  men  beforne ; 

His  armor  glittered  like  a  glede, 
None  holder  e'er  was  born. 


"  Tell  me  what  men  ye  are,"  he  says, 
"  Or  whose  men  that  you  be, 

That  you  should  hunt  in  Cheviot  chase 
In  spite  of  mine  and  of  me." 

The  first  man  that  ever  an  answer  made, 

It  was  the  lord  Percy. 
"  We  will  not  tell  you  what  men  we  are, 

Nor  whose  men  that  we  be, 
But  we  will  hunt  here  in  this  chase 

In  spite  of  thine  and  of  thee."  .  .  . 


10 


216 

Then  said  the  doughty  Douglas 

Unto  the  lord  Percy  : 
"  To  kill  all  these  guiltless  men, 

Alas  !  it  were  great  pity. 

5  "  But,  Percy,  thou  art  a  lord  of  land, 

I  am  called  an  earl  in  my  own  country. 
Let  all  our  men  aside  now  stand, 

And  let  us  battle  —  thee  and  me."  .  .  . 

Then  spake  a  squire  of  Northumberland, 
10  Richard  Witherington  was  his  name  ; 

"It  shall  never  be  told  in  South  England,"  he  says, 
"  To  King  Henry  the  Fourth  for  shame. 

"  I  know  that  you  are  two  great  lords, 

And  I  but  a  poor  squire  of  land ; 
15  Yet  my  captain  shall  never  fight  on  a  field, 

And  I  stand  by  to  looke  on, 
But  while  I  may  my  weapon  wield 

I  will  not  fail  in  heart  or  hand." 

That  day,  that  day,  that  dreadful  day ! 
20  The  first  fytte  here  I  find  ; 

If  you  will  hear  any  more  of  this  fray, 
There  is  yet  more  behind.  .  .  . 


217 


The  Second  Fytte 

The  Douglas  parted  his  host  in  three, 

Like  a  great  chieftain  of  pride, 
With  sure  spears  of  mighty  tree 

They  came  in  on  every  side.  .  .  . 

The  English  men  let  their  bows  be  5 

And  pulled  out  brands  that  were  bright ; 

It  was  a  heavy  sight  to  see 

Bright  swords  on  helmets  light.  .  .  . 

At  last  the  Douglas  and  Percy  met, 

Like  captains  of  might  and  main,  10 

They  fought  together  till  both  did  sweat 

With  swords  of  fine  Milan.  .  .  . 

"  Now  yield  thee,  Percy,"  said  Douglas  then, 

"  And  in  faith  I  will  thee  bring 
Where  thou  shalt  have  an  earl's  reward  15 

From  Jamie,  our  Scottish  king."  .  .  . 

"  Nay,"  said  the  lord  Percy, 

"  I  told  it  thee  beforne, 
That  I  would  never  yielded  be 

To  man  of  woman  born."  20 


218 

With  that  an  arrow  swiftly  came, 

Forth  from  a  mighty  bow. 
It  hath  stricken  the  earl  of  Douglas 

And  brought  his  proud  form  low.  .  .  . 

5  And  never  after  in  all  his  life 

Did  he  speak  more  words  than  one : 
"  Fight  on,  my  merry  men,  while  ye  may, 
For  my  life  days  are  gone." 

The  Percy  leaned  on  his-  brand 
10  And  saw  the  Douglas  dee ; 

He  took  the  dead  man  by  the  hand, 
And  said  "0,  wo  is  me ! 

"  To  have  saved  thy  life  I  had  parted  with 
My  landes  for  years  three, 
15  For  a  better  man,  of  heart  or  of  hand, 

There  is  not  in  the  north  country." 

All  this  was  seen  by  a  Scottish  knight, 
Called  Sir  Hugh  the  Montgomery ; 

When  he  saw  the  Douglas  to  death  was  dight 
20  He  sent  a  spear,  a  trusty  tree.  .  .  . 

Two  better  captains  than  died  that  day 
Were  not  in  Christiante.  .  .  . 


219 

This  battle  begun  in  Cheviot 

An  hour  before  the  noon, 
And  when  the  evening  bell  was  rung, 

The  battle  was  not  half  done.  .  .  . 

For  Witherington  my  heart  was  wo  5 

That  ever  he  slain  should  be ; 
For  when  both  his  legs  were  hewn  in  two, 

He  knelt  and  fought  on  his  knee.  .  .  . 

Word  is  come  to  Edinboro' 

To  Jamie,  the  Scottish  king,  10 

That  doughty  Douglas  of  the  Marches 

Lay  slain  Cheviot  within. 

His  hands  then  did  he  clasp  and  wring, 

And  said  "  Alas,  and  wo  is  me ! 
Such  another  captain  Scotland  within  "  15 

He  said,  "  in  faith,  shall  never  be." 

Word  is  come  to  lovely  London, 

To  Henry  the  Fourth,  our  king, 
That  the  lord  Percy  of  the  Marches 

Lay  slain  Cheviot  within.  20 

"  0  God,  have  mercy  on  his  soul," 
Said  he,  "  if  thy  will  it  be  ! 


220 

I  have  a  hundred  captains  still 

As  good  as  ever  was  he. 
But  Percy,  if  I  have  my  will 

Revenged  thy  death  shalt  be."  .  .  . 

There  was  never  a  time  in  the  border  lands 

Since  the  Percy  and  Douglas  met 
But  't  was  strange  if  the  red  blood  did  not  run 

As  the  rain  does  in  the  street.  .  .  . 

Cheviot:  the  hills  of  Cheviot  lie  between  England  and  Scotland.  —  fytte 
(fit)  :  a  division  of  a  ballad.  —  The  Percy :  famous  chieftains  were  often 
spoken  of  in  this  way,  as  the  Douglas,  the  Bruce.  —  doughty  (dou'ty)  :  brave, 
able.  —  harts:  male  deer. — let:  stop,  hinder.  In  Shakespeare's  time  and 
earlier  there  were  two  verbs  to  let,  one  meaning  to  allow  and  one  to  hinder. 
We  still  say  without  let  or  hindrance.  —  meany :  company.  — aboon  :  above. — 
Monenday  :  Monday.  —  at  his  hand  full  nigh  :  close  at  hand.  — bill :  a  weapon 
carried  by  foot  soldiers  ;  it  was  somewhat  like  a  spear.  —  brand  :  sword.  — 
Christiante:  Christendom,  all  Europe.  —  withoute  (with  out  e)  :  without. 
—  Tweed:  a  river  of  Scotland. —  Tividale :  Teviotdale,  the  county  of 
Roxburgh,  Scotland.  —  beforne :  before.  —  glede  :  glowing  fire.  —  Percy, 
pity,  country :  the  accent  is  often  shifted  in  the  old  songs  for  the  sake  of 

the  meter. — squire    of   land:    country    squire looke    (look  e)  :  look. — 

mighty  tree:  strong  wood main:  great  strength.  —  Milan:  finely  tem- 
pered steel  of  Milan.  —  merry  men  :  companions  and  fellow-soldiers.  — 
dee:  die.  This  is  mentioned  as  an  added  bitterness  —  that  his  enemy 
should  see  him  die.  —  by  the  hand  :  a  similar  scene  is  described  in  Virgil's 
great  poem  of  the  JEneid  (Book  X,  823),  as  Addison  points  out  in  his 
article  on  Chevy  Chase.  —  landes  (l&nd'es)  :  lands.  —  dight :    destined.  — 

a  trusty  tree  :  made  of  firm  wood lovely  London  :  an  oft-recurring  phrase 

in  the  old  ballads. 


221 
ACROSS   THE   DESERT 

Alexander  W.  Kixglake 

Alexander  W.  Kinglake,  an  English  author  who  was  born  in  1809, 
published  in  1814  an  account  of  his  Eastern  travels,  which  for  vividness 
of  description  and  for  ease  and  refinement  of  style  has  always  been  held 
in  high  esteem.  The  book  was  called  Eothen  (e  6'  then),  meaning  From  the 
East.    Kinglake  died  in  1891.  .  5 

Gaza  is  upon  the  verge  of  the  desert,  to  which  it  stands 
in  the  same  relation  as  a  seaport  to  the  sea.  It  is  there 
that  you  charter  your  camels  ("  the  ships  of  the  desert ") 
and  lay  in  your  stores  for  the  voyage. 

I  had  four  camels,  one  for  my  baggage,  one  for  each  of  10 
my  servants,  and  one  for  myself.  Four  Arabs,  the  owners, 
of  the  camels,  came  with  me  on  foot.  My  stores  were  a 
small  soldier's  tent,  two  bags  of  dried  bread  brought  from 
a  convent  at  Jerusalem,  two  goat  skins  filled  with  water, 
some  tea,  sugar,  a  cold  tongue,  and  (of  all  things  in  the  15 
world)  a  jar  of  Irish  butter  purchased  from  some  merchant. 
There  was  also  a  small  sack  of  charcoal,  for  the  greater 
part  of  the  desert  through  which  we  were  to  pass  is  desti- 
tute of  fuel. 

The  camel  kneels  to  receive  her  load,  and  for  a  while  20 
she  will  allow  the  packing  to  go  on  with  silent  resignation, 
but  when  she  begins  to  suspect  that  her  master  is  putting 
more  than  a  just  burden  upon  her  poor  hump,  she  turns 
her   supple    neck    and   looks    sadly  upon  the   increasing 


222 

load,  and  then  gently  remonstrates  against  the  wrong 
with  the  sigh  of  a  patient  wife.  If  sighs  will  not  move 
you,  she  can  weep.  You  soon  learn  to  pity  and  to  love 
her  for  the  sake  of  her  gentle,  womanish  ways. 
5  You  cannot,  of  course,  put  a  riding  saddle  upon  the  back 
of  the  camel,  but  your  quilt  or  carpet  is  folded  and  fastened 
on  the  packsaddle  upon  the  top  of  the  hump,  and  on  this 
you  sit.  I  had  my  stirrups  strapped  to  the  crossbars  of 
the  packsaddle,   and  thus,   by   gaining  rest  for  my  dan- 

10  gling  legs,  I  added  very  much  to  my  comfort. 

The  camel,  like  the  elephant,  is  one  of  the  old-fashioned 
sort  of  animals  that  still  walk  along  upon  the  now  nearly 
exploded  plan  of  the  ancient  beasts  that  lived  before  the 
flood.    She  moves  forward  both  her  near  legs  at  the  same 

15  time,' and  then  awkwardly  swings  around  her  off  shoulder 
and  haunch,  so  as  to  repeat  the  maneuver  on  that  side. 
Her  pace,  therefore,  is  an  odd,  disjointed,  and  disjoining 
sort  of  movement  that  is  rather  disagreeable  at  first,  but 
you  soon  grow  reconciled  to  it.   The  height  to  which  you 

20  are  raised  is  of  great  advantage  to  you  in  passing  the 
burning  sands  of  the  desert,  for  the  air  at  such  a  distance 
from  the  ground  is  much  cooler  and  more  lively  than  that 
which  circulates  beneath. 

For  several  miles  beyond  Gaza  the  land,  which  had  been 

25  plentifully  watered  by  the  rains  of  the  last  week,  was  cov- 
ered with  rich  verdure,  and  thickly  jeweled  with  meadow 
flowers  so  fresh  and  fragrant  that  I  began  to  grow  almost 


223 


224 

uneasy  —  to  fancy  that  the  very  desert  was  receding  before 
me,  and  that  the  long-desired  adventure  was  to  end  in  a 
mere  ride  across  a  field.  But  as  I  advanced  the  true  char- 
acter of  the  country  began  to  display  itself  with  sufficient 
5  clearness  to  dispel  my  apprehensions,  and  before  the  close 
of  my  first  day's  journey  I  had  the  gratification  of  finding 
that  I  was  surrounded  on  all  sides  by  a  tract  of  real  sand 
and  had  nothing  at  all  to  complain  of. 

As  long  as  you  are  journeying  in  the  interior  of  the 

10  desert  you  have  no  particular  point  to  make  for  as  your 
resting  place.  The  endless  sands  yield  nothing  but  small 
stunted  shrubs.  Even  these  fail  after  the  first  two  or 
three  days,  and  from  that  time  you  pass  over  broad  plains 
and  newly  reared  hills,  and  through  valleys  that  the  storm 

io  of  the  last  week  has  dug,  and  the  hills  and  the  valleys  are 
sand,  sand,  sand,  still  sand,  and  only  sand,  and  sand,  and 
sand  again. 

You  look  to  the  sun,  for  he  is  your  taskmaster,  and  by 
him  you  know  the  measure  of  the  work  that  remains  for 

20  you  to  do.  He  comes  when  you  strike  your  tent  in  the 
early  morning,  and  for  the  first  hour  of  the  day  he  stands 
at  your  side.  Then,  for  a. long  while,  you  see  him  no  more, 
for  you  are  veiled  and  shrouded  and  dare  not  look  upon 
the  greatness  of  his  glory,  but  you  know  where  he  strides 

25  overhead  by  the  touch  of  his  flaming  sword.  No  words 
are  spoken,  but  your  Arabs  moan,  your  camels  sigh,  your 
skin  glows,  your  shoulders  ache,  and  for  sights  you  see  the 


225 

pattern  and  the  web  of  the  silk  that  veils  your  eyes,  and 
the  glare  of  the  outer  light.  But  by  and  by  the  descend- 
ing sun  has  compassed  the  heaven  and  now  softly  touches 
your  right  arm  and  throws  your  lank  shadow  over  the 
sand  right  along  on  the  way  for  Persia.  Then  again  you  5 
look  upon  his  face,  for  his  power  is  all  veiled  in  his  beauty, 
and  the  redness  of  flames  has  become  the  redness  of  roses. 

Then  arrives  your  time  for  resting.    The  world  about 
you  is  all  your  own,  and  there,  where  you  will,  you  pitch 
your  solitary  tent.    There  is  no  living  thing  to  dispute  10 
your  choice.  ...  •         . 

After  the  fifth  day  of  my  journey  I  no  longer  traveled 
over  shifting  hills,  but  came  upon  a  dead  level  —  a  bed  of 
sand,  quite  hard,  and  studded  with  small,  shining  pebbles. 
There  was  no  valley  nor  hollow,  no  hill,  no  mound  by  15 
which  I  could  mark  the  way  I  was  making.  Hour  by 
hour  I  advanced,  and  saw  no  change  ;  I  was  still  the  very 
center  of  the  round  horizon  ;  hour  by  hour  I .  advanced, 
and  still  there  was  the  same,  and  the  same,  and  the  same, 
the  same  circle  of  flaming  sky,  the  same  circle  of  sand  20 
still  glaring  with  light  and  fire.  Over  all  the  heaven  above, 
over  all  the  earth  beneath,  there  was  no  visible  power 
that  could  balk  the  fierce  will  of  the  sun. 

"  He  rejoiceth  as  a  strong  man  to  run  a  race  :  his  going 
forth  is  from  the  end  of  the  heaven,  and  his  circuit  unto  25 
the  ends  of  it ;    and  there  is  nothing  hid  from  the  heat 
thereof." 


226 

But  on  the  eighth  day  there  appeared  a  dark  line  upon 
the  edge  of  the  forward  horizon,  and  soon  the  line  deepened 
into  a  delicate  fringe  that  sparkled  here  and  there  as  if  it 
were  sewn  with  diamonds.    There,  then,  before  me  were 

5  the  gardens  and  minarets  of  Egypt,  and  the  mighty  works 
of  the  Nile. 

When  evening  came  I  was  still  within  the  confines  of 
the  desert,  and  my  tent  was  pitched  as  usual,  but  one  of 
my  Arabs  stalked  away  rapidly  toward  the  west  without 

10  telling  me  of  the  errand  on  which  he  was  bent.  After  a 
while  he  returned  ;  he  had  toiled  on  a  graceful  service. 
He  had  traveled  all  the  way  to  the  border  of  the  living 
world,  and  brought  me  back  for  token  an  ear  of  rice, 
full,  fresh,  and  green. 

15  The  next  day  I  entered  upon  Egypt  and  floated  along 
(for  the  delight  was  as  the  delight  of  bathing)  through 
green,  wavy  fields  of  rice,  and  pastures  fresh  and  plentiful, 
and  dived  into  the  cool  verdure  of  groves  and  gardens, 
and  quenched  my  hot  eyes  in  shade,  as  if  in  deep  rushing 

waters. 

Abridged  from  Eothen 

Gaza  (ga'za)  :  a  town  of  Palestine  nearly  fifty  miles  southwest  of  Jeru- 
salem. For  hundreds  of  years  it  has  been  a  stopping  place  for  caravans 
going  from  Syria  to  Egypt.  —  near :  left  (of  a  beast  of  burden)  ;  so  called 
because  next  to  the  driver  when  he  is  on  foot.  — off:  right  (of  a  beast  of 
burden)  ;  on  the  side  away  from  the  driver.  —  "  there  is  nothing  hid  from 
the  heat  thereof  " :  see  Psalm  xix. 


SNOW-BOUND 

John  Greenleaf  Whittier 

Joiix  Greenleaf  Whittier  (1807-1892),  the  Quaker  poet  of  New 
England,  ranks  among  the  most  famous  of  American  verse  writers. 

At  last  the  great  logs,  crumbling  low, 

Sent  out  a  dull  and  duller  glow, 

The  bull's-eye  watch  that  hung  in  view,       •  5 

Ticking  its  weary  circuit  through, 

Pointed  with  mutely  warning  sign 

Its  black  hand  to  the  hour  of  nine. 

That  sign  the  pleasant  circle  broke : 

My  uncle  ceased  his  pipe  to  smoke,  10 

Knocked  from  its  bowl  the  refuse  gray, 

And  laid  it  tenderly  away; 

Then  roused  himself  to  safely  cover 

The  dull  red  brands  with  ashes  over. 

And  while,  with  care,  our  mother  laid  15 

The  work  aside,  her  steps  she  stayed 

One  moment,  seeking  to  express 

Her  grateful  sense  of  happiness 

For  food  and  shelter,  warmth  and  health, 

And  love's  contentment  more  than  wealth,  20 

With  simple  wishes  (not  the  weak, 

Vain  prayers  which  no  fulfilment  seek, 

But  such  as  warm  the  generous  heart, 


228 

O'er-prompt  to  do  with  Heaven  its  part) 
That  none  might  lack,  that  bitter  night, 
For  bread  and  clothing,  warmth  and  light. 

Within  our  beds  awhile  we  heard 
6  The  wind  that  round  the  gables  roared, 

With  now  and  then  a  ruder  shock, 
Which  made  our  very  bedsteads  rock. 
We  heard  the  loosened  clapboards  tossed, 
The  board-nails  snapping  in  the  frost ; 

10  And  on  us,  through  the  unplastered  wall, 

Felt  the  light  sifted  snowflakes  fall, 
But  sleep  stole  on,  as  sleep  will  do 
When  hearts  are  light  and  life  is  new  ; 
Faint  and  more  faint  the  murmurs  grew, 

15  Till  in  the  summer  land  of  dreams 

They  softened  to  the  sound  of  streams, 
Low  stir  of  leaves,  and  dip  of  oars, 
And  lapsing  waves  on  quiet  shores. 

Next  morn  we  wakened  with  the  shout 
20  Of  merry  voices  high  and  clear  ; 

And  saw  the  teamsters  drawing  near 
To  break  the  drifted  highways  out. 
Down  the  long  hillside  treading  slow 
We  saw  the  half-buried  oxen  go,* 
25  Shaking  the  snow  from  heads  uptossed, 

Their  straining  nostrils  white  with  frost. 


229 

Before  our  door  the  straggling  train 

Drew  up,  an  added  team  to  gain.  .   .  . 

Then  toiled  again  the  cavalcade 

0  'er  windy  hill,  through  clogged  ravine, 

And  woodland  paths  that  wound  between  5 

Low  drooping  pine  boughs  wt  inter-weighed. 

From  every  barn  a  team  afoot, 

At  every  house  a  new  recruit.  .  .  . 

So  days  went  on  :  a  week  had  passed 

Since  the  great  world  was  heard  from  last.  io 

The  Almanac  we  studied  o'er, 

Read  and  reread  our  little  store 

Of  books  and  pamphlets,  scarce  a  score; 

One  harmless  novel,  mostly  hid 

From  younger  eyes,  a  book  forbid ;  .   .  .  15 

At  last  the  floundering  carrier  bore 

The  village  paper  to  our  door. 

Lo  !  broadening  outward  as  we  read, 

To  warmer  zones  the  horizon  spread.  .  .   . 

AVe  felt  the  stir  of  hall  and  street,  20 

The  pulse  of  life  that  round  us  beat ; 

The  chill  embargo  of  the  snow 

Was  melted  in  the  genial  glow ; 

Wide  swung  again  our  ice-locked  door, 

And  all  the  world  was  ours  once  more !  25 

Abridged  from  Snow-Bound 
embargo :    a  government  order  forbidding  the  departure  of  ships. 


230 
POETRY 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  (1809-1894)  was  a  distinguished  author 
and  physician.  For  fifty  years  he  held  his  place  as  the  poet  and  wit  of 
Boston,  and  was  admired  by  readers  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic. 

Note.    In  The  Autocrat  of  the  Breakfast  Table  Dr.  Holmes  puts  forth  in 
5  an  informal  and  delightful  fashion  his  views  on  a  large  variety  of  subjects. 

I  liked  the  turn  the  conversation  had  taken,  for  I  had 
some  things  I  wanted  to  say,  and  so,  after  waiting  a  min- 
ute, I  began  again : 

I  don't  think  the  poems  I  read  you  sometimes  can  be 

10  fairly  appreciated,  given  to  you  as  they  are  in  the  green 
state.  You  don't  know  what  I  mean  by  the  "  green  state  "  ? 
Well,  then,  I  will  tell  you.  Certain  things  are  good  for 
nothing  until  they  have  been  kept  a  long  while  and  used. 
Of  these  I  will  name  three,  —  meerschaum  pipes,  violins, 

15  and  poems.  The  meerschaum  comes  to  us  without  com- 
plexion or  flavor,  born  of  the  sea  foam,  like  Aphrodite, 
but  colorless  as  pallida  Mors  herself.  The  fire  is  lighted 
in  its  central  shrine,  and  gradually  the  juices  which  the 
broad  leaves  of  the  Great  Vegetable  had  sucked  up  from 

20  an  acre  and  curdled  into  a  drachm  are  diffused  through 
its  thirsting  pores.  First  a  discoloration,  then  a  stain, 
and  at  last  a  rich,  glowing  umber  tint  spreading  over  the 
whole  surface..   Nature,  true  to  her  old  brown,  autumnal 


231 

hue,  you  see,  —  as  true  in  the  fire  of  the  meerschaum  as 
in  the  sunshine  of  October ! 

Don't  think  I  use  a  meerschaum  myself,  for  I  do  not, 
and  I  do  not  advise  you,  young  man,  even  if  my  illustra- 
tion strike  your  fancy,  to  consecrate  the  flower  of  your  life  6 
to  painting  the  bowl  of  a  pipe,  for,  let  me  assure  you,  the 
stain  of  a  reverie-breeding  narcotic  may  strike  deeper  than 
you  think.  I  have  seen  the  green  leaf  of  early  promise 
grow  brown  before  its  time  under  such  Nicotian  regimen, 
and  thought  the  umbered  meerschaum  was  dearly  bought  10 
at  the  cost  of  a  brain  enfeebled  and  a  will  enslaved. 

Violins,  too,  —  the  sweet  old  Amati! — the  divine  Stradi- 
varius  !  Played  on  by  ancient  maestros  until  the  bow 
hand  lost  its  power  and  the  flying  fingers  stiffened.  Be- 
queathed to  the  passionate  young  enthusiast  who  made  it  is 
whisper  his  inarticulate  longings,  and  wail  his  monotonous 
despair.  Passed  from  his  dying  hand  to  the  cold  virtuoso, 
who  let  it  slumber  in  its  case  for  a  generation,  till,  when 
his  hoard  was  broken  up,  it  came  forth  once  more  and 
rode  the  stormy  symphonies  of  royal  orchestras,  beneath  20 
the  rushing  bow  of  their  lord  and  leader.  Into  lonely 
prisons  with  improvident  artists  ;  into  convents  from 
which  arose,  day  and  night,  the  holy  hymns  with  which 
its  tones  were  blended  ;  and  back  again  to  orgies  in  which 
it  learned  to  howl  and  laugh  as  if  a  legion  of  devils  were  25 
shut  up  in  it ;  then  again  to  the  gentle  dilettante  who 
calmed  it  down  with  easy  melodies  until  it  answered  him 


232 

softly  as  in  the  days  of  the  old  maestros.  And  so  given 
into  our  hands,  its  pores  all  full  of  music,  stained,  like 
the  meerschaum,  through  and  through,  with  the  concen- 
trated hue  and  sweetness  of  all  the  harmonies  which  have 

5  kindled  and  faded  on  its  strings. 

Now  I  tell  you  a  poem  must  be  kept  and  used,  like  a 
meerschaum,  or  a  violin.  A  poem  is  just  as  porous  as  the 
meerschaum ;  the  more  porous  it  is,  the  better.  I  mean 
to  say  that  a  genuine  poem  is  capable  of  absorbing  an  in- 

10  definite  amount  of  the  essence  of  our  own  humanity,  —  its 
tenderness,  its  heroism,  its  regrets,  its  aspirations,  so  as 
to  be  gradually  stained  through  with  a  divine  secondary 
color  derived  from  ourselves.  So  you  see  it  must  take 
time  to  bring  the  sentiment  of  a  poem  into  harmony  with 

15  our  nature  by  staining  ourselves  through  every  thought 
and  image  our  being  can  penetrate. 

From  The  Autocrat  of  the  Breakfast  Table 

meerschaum  (mer'shawm)  :  a  pipe  made  from  a  porous  substance  which 
will  float  on  water.  Hence  its  German  name  meaning  "sea  foam."  — 
Aphrodi'te:  Venus,  the  goddess  of  love,  who,  according  to  one  legend, 
was  born  of  the  foam  of  the  sea.  —  pallida  Mors  (pal  \  da  mors)  :  pale 
death.  —  Nicotian :  having  to  do  with  nicotine,  the  active  principle  of  to- 
bacco. —  umbered  :  stained  brown.  —  Amati :  (a  ma'tl)  and  Stradiva'rius  : 
famous  Italian  violin  makers  of  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth  centuries. 
Their  violins  are  highly  prized  to-day.  —  maestro  (ma  as'tro)  :  a  master 
in  music.  —  virtuoso  (ver  tiio'so)  :  a  collector  of  curiosities  ;    sometimes,  a 

skilled  musician dilettante:  one  who  follows  some  art  for  amusement 

only. 


233 


THE  POETS 

Arthur  O'Shaughnessy 

Arthur  O'Shaughxessy  (1844-1881)  was  a  British  poet. 

Note.  The  wonderful  part  played  by  the  Song  of  the  Marseillaise  in 
the  French  Revolution  is  an  illustration  of  the  poet's  meaning.  The  dream 
of  a  composer  inspired  a  spirit  of  liberty  which  led  to  the  overthrow  of  a 
kingdom.  5 

We  are  the  music  makers, 

And  we  are  the  dreamers  of  dreams, 
Wandering  by  lone  sea  breakers 

And  sitting  by  desolate  streams, 
World-losers  and  world-forsakers  io 

On  whom  the  pale  moon  gleams, 
Yet  we  are  the  movers  and  shakers 

Of  the  world  forever,  it  seems. 

With  wonderful,  deathless  ditties 

We  build  up  the  world's  great  cities,  15 

And  out  of  a  fabulous  story 

We  fashion  an  empire's  glory ; 
One  man  with  a  dream,  at  pleasure, 

Shall  go  forth  and  conquer  a  crown ; 
And  three  with  a  new  song's  measure  20 

Can  trample  a  kingdom  down. 


234 

We  in  the  ages  lying 

In  the  buried  past  of  the  earth 
Built  Nineveh  with  our  sighing, 

And  Babel  itself  in  our  mirth ; 
5  And  o'er  threw  them  with  prophesying 

To  the  old  of  the  new  world's  worth ; 
For  each  age  is  a  dream  that  is  dying 

Or  one  that  is  coming  to  birth. 

THE  CHAMBERED  NAUTILUS 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes 

This  is  the  ship  of  pearl,  which,  poets  feign, 
10      Sails  the  unshadowed  main,  — 
The  venturous  bark  that  flings 
On  the  sweet  summer  wind  its  purpled  wings 
In  gulfs  enchanted,  where  the  Siren  sings, 
And  coral  reefs  lie  bare, 
15  Where  the  cold  sea  maids  rise  to  sun  their  streaming  hair. 

Its  webs  of  living  gauze  no  more  unfurl ; 

Wrecked  is  the  ship  of  pearl ! 

And  every  chambered  cell, 
Where  its  dim  dreaming  life  was  wont  to  dwell, 
20  As  the  frail  tenant  shaped  his  growing  shell, 

Before  thee  lies  revealed,  — 
Its  irised  ceiling  rent,  its  sunless  crypt  unsealed ! 


235 

Year  after  year  beheld  the  silent  toil 

That  spread  his  lustrous  coil ; 

Still,  as  the  spiral  grew, 
He  left  the  past  year's  dwelling  for  the  new. 
Stole  with  soft  step  its  shining  archway  through,  5 

Built  up  its  idle  door, 
Stretched  in  his  last-found  home,  and  knew  the  old  no  more. 

Thanks  for  the  heavenly  message  brought  by  thee, 

Child  of  the  wandering  sea, 

Cast  from  her  lap,  forlorn  !  10 

From  thy  dead  lips  a  clearer  note  is  born 
Than  ever  Triton  blew  from  wreathed  horn ! 

AVhile  on  mine  ear  it  rings, 
Through  the  deep  caves  of  thought  I  hear  a  voice  that 
sings  :  —  15 

Build  thee  more  stately  mansions,  0  my  soul, 

As  the  swift  seasons  roll ! 

Leave  thy  low-vaulted  past ! 
Let  each  new  temple,  nobler  than  the  last, 
Shut  thee  from  heaven  with  a  dome  more  vast,  20 

Till  thou  at  length  art  free, 
Leaving  thine  outgrown  shell  by  life's  unresting  sea ! 

Siren :  a  sea  nymph  who  lured  sailors  to  destruction  by  her  singing.  — 
Triton  :  one  of  the  Greek  sea  gods  who  was  supposed  to  blow  a  shell  trumpet 
to  soothe  the  waves. 


236 


A  NIGHT  AMONG  THE  PINES 


Robert  Louis  Stevenson 


At  the  top  of  the  woods,  which  do  not  climb  very  high 
upon  this  cold  ridge,  I  struck  leftward  by  a  path  among 
the  pines  until  I  hit  on  a  dell  of  green  turf,  where  a 
streamlet  made  a  little  spout  over  some  stones  to  serve  me 

5  for  a  water  tap.  The  trees  were  not  old,  but  they  grew 
thickly  round  the  glade  \  there  was  no  outlook,  except 
northeastward  upon  distant  hilltops,  or  straight  upward  to 
the  sky ;  and  the  encampment  felt  secure  and  private  like 
a  room.    By  the  time  I  had  made  my  arrangements  and 

10  fed  the  donkey,  the  day  was  already  beginning  to  decline. 
I  buckled  myself  to  the  knees  into  my  sack  and  made  a 
hearty  meal,  and  as  soon  as  the  sun  went  down  I  pulled 
my  cap  over  my  eyes  and  fell  asleep. 


237 

Night  is  a  dead,  monotonous^  period  under  a  roof ;  but  in 
the  open  world  it  passes  lightly,  with  its  stars  and  dews 
and  perfumes,  and  the  hours  are  marked  by  changes 
in  the  face  of  nature.  What  seems  a  kind  of  temporal 
death  to  people  choked  between  walls  and  curtains  is  only  a  5 
light  and  living  slumber  to  the  man  who  sleeps  afield.  All 
night  long  he  can  hear  Nature  breathing  deeply  and  freely ; 
even  as  she  takes  her  rest  she  turns  and  smiles  ;  and  there 
is  one  stirring  hour  unknown  to  those  who  dwell  in  houses, 
when  a  wakeful  influence  goes  abroad  over  the  sleeping  10 
hemisphere.  It  is  then  that  the  cock  first  crows,  not  this 
time  to  announce  the  dawn,  but  like  a  cheerful  watchman 
speeding  the  course  of  night.  Cattle  awake  on  the  mead- 
ows ;  sheep  break  their  fast  on  dewy  hillsides  and  change 
to  a  new  lair  among  the  ferns ;  and  houseless  men,  who  15 
have  lain  down  with  the  fowls,  open  their  dim  eyes  and 
behold  the  beauty  of  the  night. 

When  that  hour  came  to  me  among  the  pines,  I  wakened 
thirsty.  My  tin  was  standing  by  me  half  full  of  water.  I 
emptied  it  at  a  draught  and,  feeling  broad  awake,  sat  20 
upright.  The  stars  were  clear,  colored,  and  jewel-like 
but  not  frosty.  A  faint,  silvery  vapor  stood  for  the  Milky 
Way.  All  round  me  the  black  fir-points  stood  upright  and 
stock-still.  By  the  whiteness  of  the  packsaddle  I  could  see 
the  donkey  walking  round  and  round  at  the  length  of  her  25 
tether  ;  I  could  hear  her  steadily  munching  at  the  sward ; 
but  there  was  not  another  sound,  save  the  indescribable 


238 

quiet  talk  of  the  runnel  over  the  stones.  I  lay  studying 
the  color  of  the  sky,  as  we  call  the  void  of  space,  from 
where  it  showed  a  reddish  gray  behind  the  pines  to  where 
it  showed  a  glossy  blue-black  between  the  stars. 
5  A  faint  wind,  more  like  a  moving  coolness  than  a  stream 
of  airj  passed  down  the  glade  from  time  to  time,  so  that 
even  in  my  great  chamber  the  air  was  being  renewed  all 
night  long. 

When  I  awoke  again  many  of  the  stars  had  disappeared ; 

10  only  the  stronger  companions  of  the  night  still  burned 
visibly  overhead  ;  and  away  towards  the  east  I  saw  a  faint 
haze  of  light  upon  the  horizon,  such  as  had  been  the  Milky 
Way  when  I  was  last  awake.  Day  was  at  hand.  I  lit  my 
lantern,  and  by  its  glowworm  light  put  on  my  boots  and 

15  gaiters ;  then  I  broke  some  bread  for  the  donkey,  filled 
my  can  at  the  water  tap,  and  lit  my  spirit  lamp  to  boil 
some  chocolate.  The  blue  darkness  lay  long  in  the  glade 
where  I  had  so  sweetly  slumbered ;  but  soon  there  was  a 
broad  streak  of  orange  melting  into  gold  along  the  moun- 

20  tain  tops.  A  solemn  glee  possessed  my  mind  at  this  grad- 
ual and  lovely  coming  in  of  day.  I  heard  the  runnel  with 
delight  ;  I  looked  round  me  for  something  beautiful  and 
unexpected  ;  but  the  still  black  pine  trees,  the  hollow  glade, 
the  munching  ass,  remained  unchanged  in  figure.    Nothing 

25  had  altered  but  the  light,  and  that,  indeed,  shed  over  all  a 
spirit  of  life  and  of  breathing  peace,  and  moved  me  to  a 
strange  exhilaration. 


239 

I  drank  my  chocolate,  and  strolled  here  and  there,  and 
up  and  down  the  glade.  While  I  was  thus  delaying,  a  gush 
of  steady  wind,  as  long  as  a  heavy  sigh,  poured  direct  out 
of  the  quarter  of  the  morning.  It  was  cold,  and  set  me 
sneezing.  The  trees  near  at  hand  tossed  their  black  plumes  5 
in  its  passage ;  and  I  could  see  the  thin  distant  spires  of 
pine  along  the  edge  of  the  hill  rock  slightly  to  and  fro 
against  the  golden  east.  Ten  minutes  after,  the  sunlight 
spread  at  a  gallop  along  the  hillside,  scattering  shadows 
and  sparkles,  and  the  day  had  come  completely.  10 

I  hastened  to  prepare  my  pack  and  tackle  the  steep 
ascent  that  lay  before  me  ;  but  I  had  something  on  my 
mind.  It  was  only  a  fancy  ;  yet  a  fancy  will  sometimes 
be  importunate.  I  had  been  most  hospitably  received  and 
punctually  served  in  my  green  caravanserai.  The  room  15 
was  any,  the  water  excellent,  and  the  dawn  had  called  me 
to  a  moment.  I  say  nothing  of  the  tapestries  or  the  ceiling, 
nor  yet  of  the  view  which  I  commanded  from  the  windows  ; 
but  I  felt  I  was  in  some  one's  debt  for  all  this  liberal  enter- 
tainment. And  so  it  pleased  me,  in  a  half -laughing  way,  20 
to  leave  pieces  of  money  on  the  turf  as  I  went  along,  until 
I  had  left  enough  for  my  night's  lodging.  I  trust  they  did 
not  fall  to  some  rich  and  churlish  drover. 

Abridged  from  Travels  with  a  Donkey 

sward  (sward)  :  grass.  — runnel :  a  little  stream.  — void  :  emptiness.  — 
caravanserai :  an  unfurnished  inn,  in  the  East,  where  caravans  rest  at 
night.  —  drover  :  one  who  drives  cattle  or  sheep  to  market. 


240 
A  FOREST  HYMN1 

William  Cullen  Bryant 

William  Cullen  Bryant  (1794-1878)  was  a  distinguished  American 
poet  and  editor.  He  loved  nature,  and  gave  to  the  world  a  new  sense  of 
the  beauty  and  glory  of  simple  things. 

The  groves  were  God's  first  temples.    Ere  man  learned 
5  To  hew  the  shaft,  and  lay  the  architrave, 
And  spread  the  roof  above  them  —  ere  he  framed 
The  lofty  vault,  to  gather  and  roll  back 
The  sound  of  anthems  ;  in  the  darkling  wood, 
Amid  the  cool  and  silence,  he  knelt  down, 

10  And  offered  to  the  Mightiest  solemn  thanks 
And  supplication.    For  his  simple  heart 
Might  not  resist  the  sacred  influences 
Which,  from  the  stilly  twilight  of  the  place, 
And  from  the  gray  old  trunks  that  high  in  heaven 

15  Mingled  their  mossy  boughs,  and  from  the  sound 
Of  the  invisible  breath  that  swayed  at  once 
All  their  green  tops,  stole  over  him,  and  bowed 
His  spirit  with  the  thought  of  boundless  power 
And  inaccessible  majesty.    Ah,  why 

20  Should  we,  in  the  world's  riper  years,  neglect 
God's  ancient  sanctuaries,  and  adore 
Only  among  the  crowd,  and  under  roofs 

1  From  Bryant's  Complete  Poems.    By  permission  of  D.  Appleton  &  Co. 


241 

That  our  frail  hands  have  raised  ?   Let  me,  at  least, 
Here  in  the  shadow  of  this  aged  wood, 
Offer  one  hymn  —  thrice  happy,  if  it  find 
Acceptance  in  his  ear. 

Father,  thy  hand  5 

Hath  reared  these  venerable  columns,  thou 
Didst  weave  this  verdant  roof.    Thou  didst  look  down 
Upon  the  naked  earth,  and,  forthwith,  rose 
All  these  fair  ranks  of  trees.    They,  in  thy  sun, 
Budded,  and  shook  their  green  leaves  in  thy  breeze,  10 

And  shot  toward  heaven.    The  century-living  crow, 
Whose  birth  was  in  their  tops,  grew  old  and  died 
Among  their  branches,  till,  at  last,  they  stood, 
As  now  they  stand,  massy,  and  tall,  and  dark, 
Fit  shrine  for  humble  worshiper  to  hold  16 

Communion  with  his  Maker.    These  dim  vaults, 
These  winding  aisles,  of  human  pomp  or  pride 
Report  not.    No  fantastic  carvings  show 
The  boast  of  our  vain  race  to  change  the  form 
Of  thy  fair  works.    But  thou  art  here  —  thou  fill'st  20 

The  solitude.    Thou  art  in  the  soft  winds 
That  run  along  the  summit  of  these  trees 
In  music  ;  thou  art  in  the  cooler  breath 
That  from  the  inmost  darkness  of  the  place 
Comes,  scarcely  felt  ;  the  barky  trunks,  the  ground,  25 

The  fresh  moist  ground,  are  all  instinct  with  thee. 
Here  is  continual  worship  ;  —  nature,  here, 


242 

In  the  tranquillity  that  thou  dost  love, 
Enjoys  thy  presence.    Noiselessly,  around, 
From  perch  to  perch,  the  solitary  bird 
Passes  ;  and  yon  clear  spring,  that,  midst  its  herbs, 
5      Wells  softly  forth  and  wandering  steeps  the  roots 
Of  half  the  mighty  forest,  tells  no  tale 
Of  all  the  good  it  does.    Thou  hast  not  left 
Thyself  without  a  witness,  in  these  shades, 
Of  thy  perfections.    Grandeur,  strength,  and  grace 

10      Are  here  to  speak  of  thee.    This  mighty  oak  — 
By  whose  immovable  stem  I  stand  and  seem 
Almost  annihilated  —  not  a  prince 
In  all  that  proud  old  world  beyond  the  deep 
E'er  wore  his  crown  as  loftily  as  he 

15      Wears  the  green  coronal  of  leaves  with  which 
Thy  hand  has  graced  him.    Nestled  at  his  root 
Is  beauty,  such  as  blooms  not  in  the  glare 
Of  the  broad  sun.    That  delicate  forest  flower 
With  scented  breath,  and  look  so  like  a  smile, 

20      Seems,  as  it  issues  from  the  shapeless  mold, 
An  emanation  of  the  indwelling  Life, 
A  visible  token  of  the  upholding  Love, 
That  are  the  soul  of  this  wide  universe.  .  .  . 
There  have  been  holy  men  who  hid  themselves 

25      Deep  in  the  woody  wilderness,  and  gave 

Their  lives  to  thought  and  prayer,  till  they  outlived 
The  generation  born  with  them,  nor  seemed 


243 

Less  aged  than  the  hoary  trees  and  rocks 

Around  them  ;  —  and  there  have  been  holy  men 

Who  deemed  it  were  not  well  to  pass  life  thus. 

But  let  me  often  to  these  solitudes 

Retire,  and  in  thy  presence  reassure  5 

My  feeble  virtue.    Here  its  enemies, 

The  passions,  at  thy  plainer  footsteps  shrink 

And  tremble  and  are  still.    0  God  !  when  thou 

Dost  scare  the  world  with  tempests,  set  on  fire 

The  heavens  with  falling  thunderbolts,  or  fill,  10 

With  all  the  waters  of  the  firmament, 

The  swift  dark  whirlwind  that  uproots  the  woods 

And  drowns  the  villages ;  when,  at  thy  call, 

Uprises  the  great  deep  and  throws  himself 

Upon  the  continent,  and  overwhelms  15 

Its  cities  —  who  forgets  not,  at  the  sight 

Of  these  tremendous  tokens  of  thy  power, 

His  pride,  and  lays  his  strifes  and  follies  by  ? 

Oh,  from  these  sterner  aspects  of  thy  face 

Spare  me  and  mine,  nor  let  us  need  the  wrath  20 

Of  the  mad  unchained  elements  to  teach 

Who  rules  them.    Be  it  ours  to  meditate, 

In  these  calm  shades,  thy  milder  majesty, 

And  to  the  beautiful  order  of  thy  works 

Learn  to  conform  the  order  of  our  lives.  25 

architrave  (ar'kl  trav)  :   literally,  the  chief  beam  ;   that  which  rests  on 
the  columns instinct :    alive without  a  witness  :  see  Acts  xiv.  17. 


244 

A  TRAGEDY  IN  THE  DESERT  — I 

Honore  de  Balzac 

Honork  de  Balzac  (6  no  ra  de  bal  zac)  was  a  gifted  French  author 
who  was  born  in  1799  and  died  in  1850.  He  was  the  founder  of  the  mod- 
ern social  novel,  and  his  is  one  of  the  greatest  names  in  French  literature. 
The  following  pages  are  adapted  from  Scenes  of  Military  Life. 

5  During  an  Egyptian  expedition  a  French  soldier  fell  into 
the  hands  of  a  company  of  Arabs  and  was  taken  by  them 
into  the  desert  beyond  the  falls  of  the  Nile. 

In  order  to  place  a  safe  distance  between  themselves 
and  the  French  army,  the  Arabs  made  a  forced  march  and 

10  only  rested  during  the  night.  They  encamped  about  a  well 
shaded  by  palm  trees,  under  which  they  had  previously 
hidden  a  store  of  provisions.  Having  no  fear  that  their 
prisoner  would  try  to  escape  into  the  illimitable  desert, 
they  contented  themselves  with  binding  his  hands. 

15  As  soon  as  the  soldier  saw  that  his  captors  were  asleep, 
he  managed  to  cut  the  cords  that  bound  him  by  rubbing 
them  against  the  blade  of  a  scimitar  fixed  between  his 
knees.  Seizing  a  rifle  and  a  dagger,  and  also  providing 
himself  with  food  in  the  shape  of  some  dried  dates  and  a 

20  little  bag  of  barley,  he  fastened  a  scimitar  to  his  belt,  leaped 
upon  one  of  the  camp  horses,^  and  rode  off  in  the  direction 
which  he  supposed  the  French  army  to  have  taken.  Un- 
fortunately his  horse  was  incapable  of  further  exertion, 


245 

and  before  many  miles  had  been  covered,  the  poor  animal 
fell  dead,  leaving  the  Frenchman  alone  in  the  desert. 

After  walking  all  day  through  the  sand  with  the  cour- 
age of  an  escaped  convict,  the  soldier  was  obliged  to  stop. 
In  spite  of  the  beauty  of  the  Oriental  night,  he  felt  that   5 
he  had  not  strength  enough  to  go  on.    Fortunately  he  had 
reached  a  small  hill,  on  the  summit  of  which  a  few  palm 
trees  shot  up  into  the  air  ;  it  was  their  verdure  seen  from 
afar  which  had  brought  hope  and  consolation  to  his  heart. 
His  weariness  was  so  great  that  he  lay  down  upon  a  gran-  10 
ite  bowlder,  curiously  shaped  like  a  camp  bed,  and  there 
he  fell  asleep  without  taking  any  measures  for  his  defense 
while  he  slept.    He  had  apparently  sacrificed  his  life,  and 
his  last  thought  was  merely  one  of  regret.    He  repented 
having  left  the  Arabs,  whose  nomad  life  began  to  attract  is 
him  now  that  he  was  far  from  them  and  without  help. 

He  was  awakened  by  the  sun,  whose  pitiless  rays  fell 
with  all  their  force  on  his  hard  bed  and  produced  an  intol- 
erable heat.  When  he  looked  around  him  the  most  horrible 
despair  filled  his  soul.    The  dark  sand  of  the  desert  spread  20 
farther  than  sight  could  reach  in  every  direction,  and  glit- 
tered like  steel  struck  with  bright  light.    It  might  have 
been  a  sea  of  looking-glass,  or  lakes  melted  together  in  a 
mirror.   Waves  of  fiery  vapor  whirled  over  the  quivering 
land.    The  sky  was  lit  with  an  Oriental  splendor,  leaving  25 
naught  for  the  imagination  to  desire.    Heaven  and  earth 
were  on  fire. 


246 

The  silence  was  awful  in  its  wild  and  terrible  majesty. 
Infinity,  immensity,  closed  in  upon  the  soul  from  every 
side.  Not  a  cloud  in  the  sky,  not  a  breath  in  the  air,  not 
a  flaw  on  the  bosom  of  the  sand,  which  seemed  ever  mov- 
5  ing  in  diminutive  waves ;  the  horizon  ended  as  at  sea  on 
a  clear  day,  with  one  line  of  light,  definite  as  the  cut  of  a 
sword. 

The  soldier  threw  his  arms  round  the  trunk  of  one  of  the 
trees,  as  though  it  were  a  friend,  and  there,  in  the  shelter 

10  of  the  narrow  shadow  cast  by  the  palm,  he  wept.  He  cried 
aloud  to  measure  the  solitude.  His  voice,  lost  in  the  hollows 
of  the  hill,  sounded  faintly  and  aroused  no  echo  ;  the  echo 
was  in  his  own  heart. 

Looking  by  turns  at  the  dark  expanse  and  the  blue  ex- 

15  panse,  the  soldier  dreamed  of  France,  he  smelled  with  de- 
light the  streets  of  Paris,  he  remembered  the  towns  through 
which  he  had  passed,  the  faces  of  his  fellow-soldiers,  the 
most  minute  details  of  his  life.  At  length  he  went  down 
the  opposite  side  of  the  hill  to  that  by  which  he  had  come 

20  up  the  night  before.  His  joy  was  great  when  he  discovered 
a  kind  of  cave  among  the  immense  fragments  of  granite 
which  formed  the  base  of  the  mound.  The  remains  of  a 
rug  showed  that  this  place  of  refuge  had  at  one  time  been 
inhabited ;  at  a  short  distance  he  saw  some  palm  trees  full 

25  of  dates.  Then  the  instinct  which  binds  us  to  life  awoke 
again  in  his  heart.  He  hoped  to  live  long  enough  for  pass- 
ing Arabs  to  find  him,  or  perhaps  he  might  soon  hear  the 


247 

sound  of  cannon,  for  at  this  time  Bonaparte  was  travers- 
ing Egypt. 

This  thought  gave  him  new  life.  He  passed  suddenly 
from  dark  despair  to  an  almost  insane  joy.  He  went  up 
again  to  the  top  of  the  hill,  and  spent  the  rest  of  the  day  5 
in  cutting  down  one  of  the  trees,  which  the  night  before 
had  served  him  for  shelter.  A  vague  memory  made  him 
think  of  the  animals  of  the  desert ;  and,  foreseeing  that 
they  would  come  to  drink  at  the  spring  near  the  foot  of  the 
rocks,  he  resolved  to  guard  himself  from  their  visits  by  10 
placing  a  barrier  at  the  entrance  of  his  hermitage. 

In  spite  of  his  diligence,  and  the  strength  which  the  fear 
of  being  devoured  while  asleep  gave  him,  he  found  it  im- 
possible to  chop  the  palm  in  pieces,  though  he  succeeded  in 
cutting  it  down.  When,  toward  night,  the  king  of  the  15 
desert  fell,  the  crash  of  its  fall  resounded  far  and  wide, 
and  the  soldier  shuddered  as  though  he  had  heard  some 
voice  predicting  woe. 

He  tore  off  from  this  beautiful  tree  the  tall,  broad,  green 
leaves  which  are  its  ornament,  and  used  them  to  mend  the  20 
mat  on  which  he  was  to  rest.    Fatigued  by  the  heat  and 
his  work,  he  soon  fell  asleep. 

In  the  middle  of  the  night  he  was  wakened  by  an  ex- 
traordinary noise ;  he  sat  up,  and  the  deep  silence  around 
allowed  him  to  distinguish  a  deep,  regular  breathing  whose  25 
savage  energy  could  not  belong  to  a  human  creature.    A 
profound  terror,  increased  still  further  by  the  darkness, 


248 

the  silence,  and  his  waking  dreams,  froze  his  heart 
within  him.  He  almost  felt  his  hair  stand  on  end,  when 
by  straining  his  sight  to  its  utmost  he  perceived  through 
the  shadow  two  faint  yellow  lights.  At  first  he  attributed 
5  these  lights  to  the  reflection  of  his  own  eyes,  but  soon  the 
vivid  brilliance  of  the  night  aided  him  gradually  to  distin- 
guish the  objects  around  him  in  the  cave,  and  he  beheld  a 
huge  animal  lying  but  a  few  steps  from  him.  Was  it  a 
lion,  a  tiger,  or  a  crocodile  ? 

10  The  soldier  was  not  educated  enough  to  know  under  what 
species  his  enemy  ought  to  be  classed ■;  but  his  fright  was 
all  the  greater,  as  his  ignorance  led  him  to  imagine  many 
terrors  at  once.  He  endured  a  cruel  torture,  noting  every 
variation  of  the  breathing  close  to  him  without  daring  to 

15  make  the  slightest  movement.  An  odor  as  strong  as#  that 
of  a  fox,  but  more  penetrating,  filled  the  cave,  and  when 
the  man  became  sensible  of  this,  his  terror  reached  its 
height,  for  he  could  no  longer  doubt  the  proximity  of  a 
terrible  companion,  whose  royal  dwelling  was  serving  him 

20  for  a  shelter. 

Presently  the  reflection  of  the  moon  descending  toward 
the  horizon  lit  up  the  den  and  rendered  visible  and  re- 
splendent the  spotted  skin  of  a  panther. 

This  lion  of  Egypt  slept,  curled  up  like  a  big  dog,  the 

25  peaceful  possessor  of  a  sumptuous  niche  at  the  door  of  its 
palace;  its  eyes,  opened  for  a  moment,  were  now  closed  ;. 
its  face  was  turned  toward  the  man.    A  thousand  confused 


249 

notions  passed  through  the  Frenchman's  mind ;  first  he 
thought  of  killing  it  with  a  bullet  from  his  gun,  but  he 
saw  that  there  was  not  enough  distance  between  them  for 
him  to  take  proper  aim ;  the  shot  would  miss  the  mark. 
And  if  he  missed  ?  The  idea  paralyzed  him  with  terror.  5 
Twice  he  laid  his  hand  upon  his  scimitar,  but  each  time 
the  rashness  of  the  plan  unnerved  him.  He  preferred  the 
chances  of  fair  fight,  and  made  up  his  mind  to  wait  till 
morning.    The  morning  was  not  long  in  coming. 

He  could  now  examine  the  panther  at  ease ;  the  fur  on  10 
her  flanks  was  glistening  white  ;  many  small,  velvety 
marks  formed  beautiful  bracelets  round  her  paws  ;  her 
overdress,  yellow  like  unburnished  gold  but  very  sleek  and 
soft,  had  the  characteristic  blotches  in  the  form  of  rosettes, 
which  distinguish  the  panther  from  every  other  feline  15 
species.  Her  pose  was  as  graceful  as  that  of  a  cat  asleep 
upon  a  cushion,  but  her  muzzle  was  smeared  with  blood. 

"  She  's  had  a  good  dinner,"  he  thought,  without  troub- 
ling himself  as  to  whether  her  feast  might  have  been  on 
human  flesh.    "  She  won't  be  hungry  when  she  wakes."       20 

If  he  had  seen  his  tranquil  hostess  in  a  cage,  the  soldier 
would  doubtless  have  admired  the  grace  of  the  animal, 
and  the  contrasts  of  vivid  color  which  gave  her  robe  an 
imperial  splendor ;  but  now  he  was  disturbed  by  her 
sinister  appearance.  The  presence  of  the  panther,  even  25 
when  asleep,  had  the  same  effect  which  the  magnetic 
eyes  of  the  serpent  are  said  to  have  upon  the  nightingale. 


250 

For  a  moment  the  soldier's  courage  failed  as  lie  real- 
ized his  danger,  though  no  doubt  it  would  have  risen  at 
the  mouth  of  a  cannon  charged  with  shell.  Nevertheless, 
a  bold  thought  brought  daylight  to  his  soul  and  dried  the 
5  cold  sweat  which  dampened  his  brow.  Like  men  driven  to 
desperation,  who  offer  themselves  up  to  destruction,  he 
resolved  to  play  his  part  with  honor  to  the  last. 

"  The  day  before  yesterday  the  Arabs  might  have  killed 
me,"  he  said  ;  so,  considering  himself  as  good  as  dead 
10  already,  he  waited  bravely,  with  excited  curiosity,  his 
enemy's  awakening. 

A  TRAGEDY  IN  THE  DESERT  — II 

When  the  sun  rose  the  panther  suddenly  opened  her 
eyes  ;  then  she  put  out  her  paws  with  energy,  as  if  to 
stretch  them  and  get  rid  of  cramp.    At  last  she  yawned, 

15  showing  the  formidable  apparatus  of  her  teeth  and  pointed 
tongue,  rough  as  a  file. 

She  licked  off  the  blood  which  stained  her  paws  and 
muzzle,  and  scratched  her  head  with  reiterated  gestures 
full  of  charm. 

20  "All  right,  make  a  little  toilet,"  the  Frenchman  said 
to  himself,  beginning  to  recover  his  gaiety  with  his  cour- 
age;  "we'll  say  good  morning  to  each  other  presently." 
At  this  moment  the  panther  turned  her  head  toward  the 
man  and  looked  at  him  fixedly  without  moving. 


251 

The  rigidity  of  her  metallic  eyes  and  their  insupportable 
luster  made  him  shudder,  especially  when  the  animal 
walked  toward  him.  But  he  looked  at  her  caressingly, 
staring  into  her  eyes  in  order  to  magnetize  her,  and  let  her 
come  close  to  him ;  then  with  a  movement  both  confiding  5 
and  affectionate  he  passed  his  hand  over  her  whole  body, 
from  the  head  to  the  tail,  scratching  the  flexible  vertebrae 
which  divided  the  panthers  yellow  back.  The  eyes  of  the 
animal  grew  gentle,  and  she  uttered  a  purring  sound  such 
as  that  by  which  our  cats  express  their  pleasure ;  but  this  10 
murmur  issued  from  a  throat  so  powerful  and  so  deep 
that  it  rang  through  the  cave  like  the  last  vibrations  of 
an  organ  in  a  church. 

The  man,  understanding  the  importance  of  his  caresses, 
redoubled  them.  When  he  felt  sure  of  having  lessened  the  15 
ferocity  of  his  companion,  whose  hunger  had  so  fortunately 
been  satisfied  the  night  before,  he  rose  to  leave  the  cave  ; 
the  panther  let  him  go  out,  but  when  he  had  reached 
the  summit  of  the  hill  she  sprang  lightly  after  him  and 
rubbed  herself  against  his  legs,  putting  up  her  back  after  20 
the  manner  of  all  cats.  Then  regarding  her  guest  with 
eyes  whose  glare  had  softened  a  little  she  uttered  that 
wild  cry  which  naturalists  compare  to  the  grating  of  a  saw. 

"  She  is  exacting,"  said  the  Frenchman,  smiling. 

He  was  bold  enough  to  play  with  her  ears  ;  he  scratched  25 
her  head  and  stroked  her  fur.  Assured  of  his  success  he  even 
tickled  her  skull  with  the  point  of  his  dagger,  watching  for 


252 

the  moment  to  kill  her,  but  the  hardness  of  her  bones 
made  him  fearful  of  failure. 

The  sultana  of  the  desert  showed  herself  gracious  to  her 
slave ;  she  lifted  her  head,  stretched  out  her  neck,  and 

5  manifested  her  delight  by  the  tranquillity  of  her  attitude. 
At  length  she  laid  herself  gracefully  at  his  feet  and  cast 
up  at  him  glances  in  which,  in  spite  of  their  natural  fierce- 
ness, was  mingled  confusedly  a  kind  of  good  will.  The 
poor  soldier  ate  his  dates,  leaning  against  one  of  the  palm 

10  trees,  but  gazing  alternately  toward  the  desert  in  quest  of 
some  liberator,  and  at  his  terrible  companion  to  watch  her 
uncertain  clemency. 

The  panther  looked  at  the  place  where  the  date  stones 
fell,  and  every  time  that  he  threw  one  down,  her  eyes  nar- 

15  rowed  suspiciously.  She  examined  the  man  with  an  almost 
commercial  prudence.  However,  this  examination  was  fa- 
vorable to  him,  for  when  he  had  finished  his  meager  meal 
she  licked  his  boots  with  her  powerful  rough  tongue,  brush- 
ing off  with  marvelous  skill  the  dust  gathered  in  the  creases. 

20  "  Ah,  but  when  she  's  really  hungry !  "  thought  the 
Frenchman. 

In  spite  of  the  shudder  this  thought  caused  him,  the 
soldier  began  to  measure  curiously  the  proportions  of  the 
panther,  certainly  one  of  the  most  splendid  specimens  of 

25  her  race.  She  was  three  feet  high  and  four  feet  long  with- 
out counting  her  tail  ;  this  powerful  weapon,  rounded  like 
a  cudgel,  was  nearly  three  feet  long.    The  head,  as  large 


253 


254 

as  that  of  a  lioness,  was  distinguished  by  a  rare  expression 
of  subtle  intelligence. 

The  soldier  began  now  to  walk  up  and  down,  and  the 
panther  left  him  free,  contenting  herself  with  following 
5  him  with  her  eyes,  less  like  a  faithful  dog  than  a  big 
Angora  cat,  mistrustful  of  everything,  even  of  the  move- 
ments of  her  master. 

When  he  looked  round  he  saw  by  the  spring  the  re- 
mains of  his  horse ;  the  panther  had  dragged  the  carcass 
10  all  the  way  ;  about  two  thirds  of  it  had  been  devoured 
already.    The  sight  reassured  him. 

It  was  easy  now  to  explain  the  panther's  absence  and 

the  respect  she  had  had  for  him  while  he  slept.    The  first 

piece  of  good  luck  emboldened  him  to  tempt  the  future, 

15  and  he  conceived  the  wild  hope  of  keeping  on  good  terms 

with   the    animal   during    the    entire  day,  neglecting  no 

means  of  taming  her  and  of  remaining  in  her  good  graces. 

He  returned  to  her    and  had  the  unspeakable  joy  of 

seeing  her  move  her  tail  gently  at  his  approach.    He  sat 

20  down,  then,  without  fear  by  her  side,  and  they  began  to 

play  together;  he  took  her  paws  and  muzzle,  pulled  her 

ears,  rolled  her  over  on  her  back,  stroked  her  warm,  silky 

flanks.    She  let  him  do  whatever  he  liked,  and  when  he 

began  to   smooth   the  hair  on  her  paws,   she  drew   her 

25  claws  in  carefully  like  a  well-trained  cat. 

He    seemed  to  have  found  a  friend  in  this  boundless 
desert ;  and  some  memory  of  his  early  days  suggested  to 


255 

him  the  idea  of  making  the  young  panther  answer  to  the 
name  of  Mignonne,  now  that  he  began  to  admire  with  less 
terror  her  swiftness,  suppleness,  and  softness.  Toward  the 
end  of  the  day  he  had  familiarized  himself  with  his  peril- 
ous position  ;  and  his  companion  would  look  up  at  him  5 
whenever  he  cried  "  Mignonne." 

Counting  on  his  ability  to  run  away  from  her  as  soon 
as  she  was  asleep,  the  soldier  waited  with  impatience  the 
hour  of  his  flight.  When  it  arrived  he  walked  vigorously 
in  the  direction  of  the  Nile ;  but  hardly  had  he  gone  a  10 
quarter  of  a  league  in  the  sand,  when  he  heard  the  panther 
bounding  after  him,  crying  with  that  saw-like  cry,  more 
dreadful  even  than  the  sound  of  her  leaping. 

"  Ah  !  "  he  said,  "  then  she  's  taken  a  fancy  to  me ;  it 
is  really  quite  flattering."  15 

At  that  very  instant  the  man  fell  into  one  of  those 
quicksands  which  are  so  terrible  to  travelers  and  from 
which  it  is  impossible  to  save  one's  self.  Feeling  himself 
caught,  he  gave  a  shriek  of  alarm  ;  the  panther  seized  him 
by  the  collar  with  her  teeth,  and,  springing  vigorously  20 
backward,  drew  him,  as  if  by  magic,  out  of  the  engulfing 
sand. 

"  Ah,  Mignonne  !  "  cried  the  soldier,  caressing  her  fondly, 
"  now  we  're  bound  together  for  life  and  death  ;  but  no 
jokes,  mind !  "  and  he  retraced  his  steps.  25 

No  longer  did  the  desert  seem  uninhabited.  It  contained 
a  being  to  whom  the  man  could  talk,  and  whose  ferocity 


256 

had  been  subdued  by  him,  though  he  could  not  explain  to 
himself  the  reason  for  their  strange  friendship. 

Great  as  was  the  soldier's  desire  to  stay  up  on  guard 
that  night,  he  slept.  On  awakening  he  could  not  find 
5  Mignonne.  Mounting  the  hill,  he  saw  her  springing 
toward  him  after  the  habit  of  those  animals  who  cannot 
run  on  account  of  the  extreme  flexibility  of  the  vertebral 
column.  She  came  up  to  him,  her  jaws  covered  with 
blood ;  she  received  the  wonted  caress  of  her  companion, 

10  showing  with  much  purring  how  happy  it  made  her.  Her 
eyes,  full  of  languor,  turned  gently  toward  him  and  he 
talked  to  her  as  one  would  to  a  tame  animal.  She  played 
like  a  puppy  with  her  master,  letting  herself  be  rolled 
about,  pommeled,  and  fondled  by  turns. 

15  Several  days  passed  in  this  manner,  but  he  was  obliged  to 
watch  like  a  spider  in  his  web  lest  the  moment  of  his  de- 
liverance by  some  possible  traveler  should  escape  him.  He 
had  torn  up  his  shirt  to  make  a  flag,  and  this  he  hung 
at  the  top  of  a  palm  tree  whose  foliage  he  had  pulled  off. 

20  Taught  by  necessity,  he  found  the  means  of  keeping  the 
flag  spread  out,  by  fastening  it  with  little  sticks,  for  the 
wind  might  not  be  blowing  at  the  moment  when  the  pass- 
ing traveler  was  looking  across  the  desert. 

It  was  during  the  long  hours  when  he  had  abandoned 

25  hope  that  he  amused  himself  with  the  panther.  He  had 
come  to  learn  the  different  inflections  of  her  voice,  the  ex- 
pressions of  her  eyes ;  he  had  studied  the  patterns  of  all 


257 

the  rosettes  which  marked  the  gold  of  her  robe.  It  gave 
him  pleasure  to  watch  the  supple,  fine  outlines  of  her  form 
and  the  graceful  pose  of  her  head.  But  it  was  when  she 
was  playing  that  he  felt  most  pleasure  in  looking  at  her ; 
the  agility  and  lightness  of  her  movements  were  a  con-  5 
tinual  surprise ;  he  wondered  at  the  supple  way  in  which 
she  jumped  and  climbed,  washed  herself  and  arranged  her 
fur,  crouched  down  and  prepared  to  spring.  However 
rapid  her  leap  might  be,  however  slippery  the  stone 
she  was  on,  she  would  always  stop  short  at  the  word  10 
"Mignonne!  " 

And  how  did  it  all  end  ? 

Alas  !  in  a  misunderstanding.  Suddenly  one  day,  when 
they  were  playing  together,  the  panther  turned  and  with 
her  sharp  teeth  caught  hold  of  the  man's  leg,  gently,  I  15 
dare  say,  and  not  meaning  to  do  him  harm  ;  but  he,  think- 
ing she  was  about  to  devour  him,  plunged  his  dagger  into 
her  throat.  She  rolled  over,  giving  a  cry  that  he  never 
forgot,  but  looking  at  him  without  anger.  He  would  have 
given  all  the  world  to  have  brought  her  to  life  again.  20 
And  the  soldiers  who  had  seen  his  flag  and  hastened  to 
his  assistance,  found  him  in  tears. 

forced  march :  a  long  march  made  with  all  possible  speed  and  allowing 
none  of  the  usual  pauses  for  rest.  ■>—  scimitar  (slm'Iter)  :  a  short,  curved 
sword.  —  Bonaparte  :  Xapoleon  Bonaparte  was  a  famous  French  officer  who 
attempted  to  conquer  Egypt  as  a  means  of  attacking  English  commerce  in  the 
East.  He  was  made  Emperor  of  the  French  in  1804,  but  after  years  spent 
in  warfare  with  most  of  the  countries  of  Europe  he  died  in  exile  in  1821. 


258 


PSALM  VIII 


0  Lord  our  Lord,  how  excellent  is  thy  name  in  all  the 
earth !  who  hast  set  thy  glory  above  the  heavens. 

Out  of  the  mouth  of  babes  and  sucklings  hast  thou 
ordained  strength  because  of  thine  enemies,   that  thou 
5  mightest  still  the  enemy  and  the  avenger. 

When  I  consider  thy  heavens,  the  work  of  thy  fingers, 
the  moon  and  the  stars,  which  thou  hast  ordained  ;  what 
is  man,  that  thou  art  mindful  of  him  ?  and  the  son  of  man, 
that  thou  visitest  him  ? 
io  For  thou  hast  made  him  a  little  lower  than  the  angels, 
and  hast  crowned  him  with  glory  and  honour.  Thou 
madest  him  to  have  dominion  over  the  works  of  thy 
hands  ;  thou  hast  put  all  things  under  his  feet :  all  sheep 
and  oxen,  yea,  and  the  beasts  of  the  field  ;  the  fowl  of  the 
15  air,  and  the  fish  of  the  sea,  and  whatsoever  passeth  through 
the  paths  of  the  seas. 

0  Lord  our  Lord,  how  excellent  is  thy  name  in  all  the 
earth ! 

PSALM  XIX 

The  heavens  declare  the  glory  of  God ;  and  the  firma- 
20  ment  sheweth  his  handy  work. 

Day  unto  day  uttereth  speech,  and  night  unto  night 
sheweth  knowledge.  There  is  no  speech  nor  language, 
where  their  voice  is  not  heard.    Their  line  is  gone  out 


259 

through  all  the   earth,   and    their  words  to  the  end  of 
the  world. 

In  them  hath  he  set  a  tabernacle  for  the  sun,  which  is 
as  a  bridegroom  coming  out  of  his  chamber,  and  rejoiceth 
as  a  strong  man  to  run  a  race.    His  going  forth  is  from  the   5 
end  of  the  heaven,  and  his  circuit  unto  the  ends  of  it :  and 
there  is  nothing  hid  from  the  heat  thereof. 

The  law  of  the  Lord  is  perfect,  converting  the  soul :  the 
testimony  of  the  Lord  is  sure,  making  wise  the  simple. 
The  statutes  of  the  Lord  are  right,  rejoicing  the  heart :  the  10 
commandment  of  the  Lord  is  pure,  enlightening  the  eyes. 
The  fear  of  the  Lord  is  clean,  enduring  for  ever  :  the  judg- 
ments of  the  Lord  are  true  and  righteous  altogether.  More 
to  be  desired  are  tjiey  than  gold,  yea,  than  much  fine  gold  : 
sweeter  also  than  honey  and  the  honeycomb.  Moreover  by  15 
them  is  thy  servant  warned  :  and  in  keeping  of  them  there 
is  great  reward. 

Who  can  understand  his  errors  ?  cleanse  thou  me  from 
secret  faults.    Keep  back  thy  servant  also  from  presump- 
tuous sins ;  let  them  not  have  dominion  over  me :  then  20 
shall  I  be  upright,  and  I  shall  be  innocent  from  the  great 
transgression. 

Let  the  words  of  my  mouth,  and  the  meditation  of  my 
heart,  be  acceptable  in  thy  sight,  0  Lord,  my  strength,  and 
my  redeemer.  From  the  Bible     25 

where  their  voice  :  in  the  revised  versions  "  where  "  is  omitted,  making 
the  meaning  clearer. 


260 
GOD'S  PRESENCE  IN  NATURE 

Thomas  Moore 

Thomas  Moore  (1779-1852)  was  an  Irish  poet  noted  for  the  melody 
of  his  lyrics.   His  most  famous  poem  is  "  Lalla  Rookh." 

Thou  art,  0  God !  the  life  and  light 
Of  all  this  wondrous  world  we  see  : 
5  Its  glow  by  day,  its  smile  by  night, 

Are  but  reflections  caught  from  thee. 
Where'er  we  turn,  thy  glories  shine ; 
And  all  things  fair  and  bright  are  thine. 

When  day  with  farewell  beam  delays 
10  Among  the  opening  clouds  of  even, 

And  we  can  almost  think  we  gaze 

Through  golden  vistas  into  heaven, 
Those  hues  that  make  the  sun's  decline 
So  soft,  so  radiant,  Lord,  are  thine. 

15  When  night,  with  wings  of  starry  gloom, 

O'ershadows  all  the  earth  and  skies, 
Like  some  dark,  beauteous  bird,  whose  plume 

Is  sparkling  with  unnumbered  eyes, 
That  sacred  gloom,  those  fires  divine, 
20  So  grand,  so  countless,  Lord,  are  thine. 

even :  evening. 


261 
RUNNING  THE  GAUNTLET 

James  Fenimore  Cooper 

James  Fenimore  Cooper  (1789-1851)  was  the  first  American  author 
to  write  stories  of  adventure.  His  thirty-two  novels  are  of  uneven  merit. 
Of  the  eight  which  are  considered  his  best,  six  are  tales  of  pioneer  and 
Indian  life  ;    The  Pilot  and  The  Red  Rocer  are  stories  of  the  sea. 

Xote.    Duncan  Heyward,  a  young  officer  in  the  colonial  army  during    5 
the  French  and  Indian  War,  is  in  disguise  in  a  camp  of  hostile  Indians. 
Suddenly  a  fearful  uproar  is  heard,  and  men,  women,  and  children  rush 
out  of  their  lodges  to  greet  a  band  of  returning  warriors. 

There  yet   lingered   sufficient  light  in  the  heavens  to 
exhibit  those  bright  openings  among  the  tree  tops,  where  10 
different  paths  left  the  clearing  to  enter  the  depths  of  the 
wilderness.    Beneath  one  of  them  a  line  of  warriors  issued 
from  the  woods  and  advanced  slowly  toward  the  dwellings. 

When  at  the  distance  of  a  few  hundred  feet  from  the 
lodges  the  newly  arrived  warriors  halted.  Their  plaintive  is 
and  terrific  cry,  which  was  intended  to  represent  equally 
the  wailings  of  the  dead  and  the  triumph  of  the  victors, 
had  entirely  ceased.  One  of  their  number  now  called  aloud 
in  words  that  were  far  from  appalling,  though  not  more 
intelligible  to  those  for  whose  ears  they  were  intended  20 
than  their  expressive  yells.  It  would  be  difficult  to  convey 
a  suitable  idea  of  the  savage  ecstasy  with  which  the  news 
thus  imparted  was  received.  The  whole  encampment  in  a 
moment  became  a  scene  of  the  most  violent  bustle  and 


262 


commotion.  The  warriors  drew  their  knives,  and,  flour- 
ishing them,  they  arranged  themselves  in  two  lines,  form- 
ing a  lane  that  extended  from  the  war  party  to  the  lodges. 


The  squaws  seized  clubs,  axes,  or  whatever  weapon  of 
5  offense  first  offered  itself  to  their  hands,  and  rushed  eagerly 
to  act  their  part  in  the  cruel  game  that  was  at  hand. 
Even  the  children  would  not  be  excluded  ;  but  boys,  little 
able  to  wield  the  instruments,  tore  the  tomahawks  from 
the  belts  of  their  fathers  and  stole  into  the  ranks,  apt 
10  imitators  of  the  savage  traits  exhibited  by  their  parents. 


263 

Large  piles  of  brush  lay  scattered  about  the  clearing, 
and  a  wary  and .  aged  squaw  was  occupied  in  firing  as 
many  as  might  serve  to  light  the  coming  exhibition.  As 
the  flame  arose,  its  power  exceeded  that  of  the  parting 
day,  and  assisted  to  render  objects  at  the  same  time  more  5 
distinct  and  more  hideous.  The  whole  scene  formed  a 
striking  picture,  whose  frame  was  composed  by  the  dark 
and  tall  border  of  pines.  The  warriors  just  arrived  were 
the  most  distant  figures.  A  little  in  advance  stood  two 
men,  who  were  apparently  selected  from  the  rest  as  the  10 
principal  actors  in  what  was  to  follow.  The  light  was  not 
strong  enough  to  render  their  features  distinct,  though 
it  was  quite  evident  that  they  were  governed  by  very 
different  emotions.  While  one  stood  erect  and  firm,  pre- 
pared to  meet  his  fate  like  a  hero,  the  other  bowed  his  15 
head,  as  if  palsied  by  terror  or  stricken  with  shame.  The 
high-spirited  Duncan  felt  a  powerful  impulse  of  admira- 
tion and  pity  toward  the  former,  though  no  opportunity 
could  offer  to  exhibit  his  generous  emotions.  He  watched 
his  slightest  movement,  however,  with  eager  eyes,  and  2<T 
as  he  traced  the  fine  outline  of  his  admirably  proportioned 
and  active  frame,  he  endeavored  to  persuade  himself  that 
if  the  powers  of  man  could  bear  one  harmless  through 
so  severe  a  trial,  the  youthful  captive  before  him  might 
hope  for  success  in  the  hazardous  race  he  was  about  to  run.  25 

Insensibly  the  young  man  drew  nigher  to  the  swarthy 
lines  of  the  Hurons,  and  scarcely  breathed,  so  intense 


264 

became  his  interest  in  the  spectacle.  Just  then  the  signal 
yell  was  given,  and  the  momentary  quiet  which  had  pre- 
ceded it  was  broken  by  a  burst  of  cries  that  far  exceeded 
any  before   heard.    The  most  abject  of  the  two  victims 

5  continued  motionless ;  but  the  other  bounded  from  the 
place  at  the  cry  with  the  activity  and  swiftness  of  a  deer. 
Instead  of  rushing  through  the  hostile  lines,  as  had  been 
expected,  he  just  entered  the  dangerous  defile,  and  before 
time  was  given  for  a  single  blow,  turned  short,  and  leaping 

10  the  heads  of  a  row  of  children,  he  gained  at  once  the  ex- 
terior and  safer  side  of  the  formidable  array.  The  artifice 
was  answered  by  a  hundred  voices  raised  in  imprecations, 
and  the  whole  of  the  excited  multitude  broke  from  their 
order  and   spread   themselves    about    the    place    in  wild 

15  confusion. 

It  will  easily  be  understood  that  amid  such  a  concourse 
of  vindictive  enemies  no  breathing  time  was  allowed  the 
fugitive.  There  was  a  single  moment  when  it  seemed  as 
if  he  would  have  reached  the  forest,  but  the  whole  body 

20  of  his  captors  threw  themselves  before  him  and  drove  him 
back  into  the  center  of  his  relentless  persecutors.  Turning 
like  a  headed  deer,  he  shot  with  the  swiftness  of  an  arrow 
through  a  pillar  of  forked  flame,  and  passing  the  whole 
multitude  unharmed,  he  appeared  on  the  opposite  side  of 

25  the  clearing.  Here,  too,  he  was  met  and  turned  by  a  few 
of  the  older  and  more  subtle  of  the  Hurons.  Once  more 
he  tried  the  throng,  as  if  seeking  safety  in  its  blindness, 


265 

and  then  several  moments  succeeded,  during  which  Duncan 
believed  that  the  active  and  courageous  young  stranger 
was  lost. 

Nothing  could  be  distinguished  but  a  dark  mass  of 
human  forms,  tossed  and  involved  in  inexplicable  con-  5 
fusion.  Arms,  gleaming  knives,  and  formidable  clubs  ap- 
peared above  them,  but  the  blows  were  evidently  given  at 
random.  The  awful  effect  was  heightened  by  the  piercing 
shrieks  of  the  women  and  the  fierce  yells  of  the  warriors. 
Now  and  then  Duncan  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  light  form  10 
cleaving  the  air  in  some  desperate  bound,  and  he  rather 
hoped  than  believed  that  the  captive  yet  retained  the 
command  of  his  astonishing  powers  of  activity. 

Suddenly  the  multitude  rolled  backward  and  approached 
the  spot  where  he  himself  stood.    The  stranger  reappeared  15 
in  the  confusion.    Human  power  could  not,  however,  much 
longer  endure  so  severe  a  trial.    Of  this  the  captive  seemed 
conscious.    Profiting  by  the  momentary  opening,  he  darted 
from  among  the  warriors  and  made  a  desperate  and  what 
seemed  to  Duncan  a  final  effort  to  gain  the  wood.    As  if  20 
aware  that  no  danger  was  to  be  apprehended  from  the 
young  soldier,  the  fugitive  nearly  brushed  his  person  in 
his  flight.   A  tall  and  powerful  Huron,  who  had  husbanded 
his  forces,  pressed  close  upon  his  heels,  and  with  an  up- 
lifted arm  menaced  a  fatal  blow.    Duncan  thrust  forth  25 
a   foot,    and    the   shock    precipitated    the   eager    savage 
headlong  many  feet  in  advance  of  his  intended  victim. 


266 

Thought  itself  is  not  quicker  than  was  the  motion  with 
which  the  latter  profited  by  the  advantage;  he  turned, 
gleamed  like  a  meteor  again  before  the  eyes  of  Duncan, 
and  at  the  next  moment,  when  the  latter  recovered  his 

5  recollection  and  gazed  around  in  quest  of  the  captive,  he 
saw  him  quietly  leaning  against  a  small  painted  post 
which  stood  before  the  door  of  the  principal  lodge. 

Apprehensive  that  the  part  he  had  taken  in  the  escape 
might  prove  fatal  to  himself,  Duncan  left  the  place  with- 

10  out  delay.  He  followed  the  crowd,  which  drew  nigh  the 
lodges,  gloomy  and  sullen  like  any  other  multitude  that 
had  been  disappointed  in  an  execution.  Curiosity,  or  per- 
haps a  better  feeling,  induced  him  to  approach  the  stran- 
ger.   He  found  him  standing  with  one  arm  cast  about  the 

15  protecting  post,  and  breathing  thick  and  hard  after  his 
incredible  exertions,  but  still  disdaining  to  permit  a  single 
sign  of  suffering  to  escape.  His  person  was  now  protected 
by  immemorial  and  sacred  usage,  until  the  tribe  in  council 
had  deliberated  and  determined  on  his  fate. 

From  The  Last  of  the  Mohicans 

Running  the  Gauntlet :  Parkman,  the  historian,  thus  describes  this  cruel 
game:  "  When  a  war  party  returned  with  prisoners,  the  whole  population 
of  the  village  turned  out  to  receive  them,  armed  with  sticks,  clubs,  or 
even  deadlier  weapons.  The  captive  was  ordered  to  run  to  a  given  point, 
while  his  tormentors,  ranging  themselves  in  two  rows,  inflicted  on  him  a 
merciless  flagellation,  which  only  ceased  when  he  had  reached  the  goal." 
—  offer  :  present  itself.  —  Hurons  :  members  of  an  Indian  tribe.  —  a  headed 
deer :  a  deer  is  often  turned  by  heading  it  off  rather  than  by  pursuit.  — 
husbanded :   saved ;  kept  in  reserve.  —  a  small  painted  post :   the  goal. 


267 
EXCALIBUR 

Alfred  Tennyson 

Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson,  late  poet  laureate  of  England  and  one  of 
the  greatest  poets  of  his  time,  was  born  in  1809  and  died  in  1892.  His  verse 
is  noted  for  its  perfect  form  and  melody. 

Note.  The  following  selection  is  taken  from  The  Passing  of  Arthur, 
one  of  the  well-known  Idylls  of  the  King.  According  to  the  story  on  which  5 
Tennyson  founded  his  poem,  King  Arthur  finds  that  his  nephew  Modred, 
whom  the  kiug  has  appointed  regent  in  his  absence,  has  been  a  traitor, 
and  has  won  over  to  his  cause  some  of  the  knights  of  the  Round  Table. 
Arthur  pursues  Modred  to  Lyonnesse,  where  both  are  mortally  wounded  in 
a  great  battle.  Sir  Bedivere  (bSd'iver),  one  of  the  loyal  knights,  is  the  10 
only  member  of  the  famous  circle  who  is  left  unhurt. 

So  all  day  long  the  noise  of  battle  rolled 
Among  the  mountains  by  the  winter  sea ; 
Until  King  Arthur's  Table,  man  by  man, 
Had  fallen  in  Lyonnesse  about  their  lord,  15 

King  Arthur.    Then,  because  his  wound  was  deep, 
The  bold  Sir  Bedivere  uplifted  him, 
And  bore  him  to  a  chapel  nigh  the  field, 
A  broken  chancel  with  a  broken  cross, 
That  stood  on  a  dark  strait  of  barren  land :  20 

On  one  side  lay  the  ocean,  and  on  one 
Lay  a  great  water,  and  the  moon  was  full. 

Then  spake  King  Arthur  to  Sir  Bedivere : 
.  "  The  sequel  of  to-day  unsolders  all 


268 

The  goodliest  fellowship  of  famous  knights 
Whereof  this  world  holds  record.  .  .  . 
I  am  so  deeply  smitten  through  the  helm 
That  without  help  I  cannot  last  till  morn. 
Thou  therefore  take  my  brand  Excalibur, 
5  Which  was  my  pride  :  for  thou  rememberest  how 

In  those  old  days,  one  summer  noon,  an  arm 
Rose  up  from  out  the  bosom  of  the  lake, 
Clothed  in  white  samite,  mystic,  wonderful, 
Holding  the  sword  —  and  how  I  rowed  across 

10  And  took  it,  and  have  worn  it,  like  a  king ; 

And,  wheresoever  I  am  sung  or  told 
In  af  tertime,  this  also  shall  be  known  : 
But  now  delay  not :  take  Excalibur, 
And  fling  him  far  into  the  middle  mere : 

is  Watch  what  thou  seest,  and  lightly  bring  me  word." 

To  him  replied  the  bold  Sir  Bedivere  : 
"  It  is  not  meet,  Sir  King,  to  leave  thee  thus, 
Aidless,  alone,  and  smitten  through  the  helm  — 
A  little  thing  may  harm  a  wounded  man ; 
20  Yet  I  thy  hest  will  all  perform  at  full, 

Watch  what  I  see,  and  lightly  bring  thee  word." 

So  saying,  from  the  ruined  shrine  he  stept, 
And  in  the  moon  athwart  the  place  of  tombs, 


269 

Where  lay  the  mighty  bones  of  ancient  men, 

Old  knights,  and  over  them  the  sea-wind  sang 

Shrill,  clear,  with  flakes  of  foam.    He,  stepping  down 

By  zigzag  paths,  and  juts  of  pointed  rock, 

Came  on  the  shining  levels  of  the  lake.  5 

There  drew  he  forth  the  brand  Excalibur, 
And  o'er  him,  drawing  it,  the  winter  moon, 
Brightening  the  skirts  of  a  long  cloud,  ran  forth 
And  sparkled  keen  with  frost  against  the  hilt : 
For  all  the  haft  twinkled  with  diamond  sparks,  10 

Myriads  of  topaz-lights,  and  jacinth-work 
Of  subtlest  jewellery.    He  gazed  so  long 
That  both  his  eyes  were  dazzled  as  he  stood, 
This  way  and  that  dividing  the  swift  mind, 
In  act  to  throw  :  but  at  the  last  it  seemed  is 

Better  to  leave  Excalibur  concealed 
There  in  the  many-knotted  waterflags, 
That  whistled  stiff  and  dry  about  the  marge. 
So  strode  he  back  slow  to  the  wounded  King. 

Then  spake  King  Arthur  to  Sir  Bedivere  :  20 

"  Hast  thou  performed  my  mission  which  I  gave  ? 
What  is  it  thou  hast  seen  ?  or  what  hast  heard  ?  " 

And  answer  made  the  bold  Sir  Bedivere : 
"  I  heard  the  ripple  washing  in  the  reeds, 
And  the  wild  water  lapping  on  the  crag."  25 


270 


271 

To  whom  replied  King  Arthur,  faint  and  pale : 
"  Thou  hast  betrayed  thy  nature  and  thy  name, 
Not  rendering  true  answer,  as  beseemed 
Thy  fealty,  nor  like  a  noble  knight ; 
For  surer  sign  had  followed,  either  hand,  5 

Or  voice,  or  else  a  motion  of  the  mere. 
This  is  a  shameful  thing  for  men  to  lie. 
Yet  now,  I  charge  thee,  quickly  go  again, 
As  thou  art  lief  and  dear,  and  do  the  thing 
I  bade  thee,  watch,  and  lightly  bring  me  word."  10 

Then  went  Sir  Bedivere  the  second  time 
Across  the  ridge,  and  paced  beside  the  mere, 
Counting  the  dewy  pebbles,  fixed  in  thought ; 
But  when  he  saw  the  wonder  of  the  hilt, 
How  curiously  and  strangely  chased,  he  smote  15 

His  palms  together,  and  he  cried  aloud : 

u  And  if  indeed  I  cast  the  brand  away, 
Surely  a  precious  thing,  one  worthy  note, 
Should  thus  be  lost  for  ever  from  the  earth, 
Which  might  have  pleased  the  eyes  of  many  men.        20 
What  good  should  follow  this,  if  this  were  done  ? 
What  harm,  undone  ?   Deep  harm  to  disobey, 
Seeing  obedience  is  the  bond  of  rule. 
Were  it  well  to  obey  then,  if  a  king  demand 
An  act  unprofitable,  against  himself  ?  25 

The  king  is  sick,  and  knows  not  what  he  does. 


272 

What  record,  or  what  relic  of  my  lord 
Should  be  to  aftertime,  but  empty  breath 
And  rumors  of  a  doubt  ?   But  were  this  kept, 
Stored  in  some  treasure-house  of  mighty  kings, 

5  Some  one  might  show  it  at  a  joust  of  arms, 

Saying,  "  King  Arthur's  sword,  Excalibur, 
Wrought  by  the  lonely  Maiden  of  the  Lake. 
Nine  years  she  wrought  it,  sitting  in  the  deeps 
Upon  the  hidden  bases  of  the  hills." 

10  So  might  some  old  man  speak  in  the  aftertime 

To  all  the  people,  winning  reverence. 
But  now  much  honor  and  much  fame  were  lost." 

So  spake  he,  clouded  with  his  own  conceit, 
And  hid  Excalibur  the  second  time, 
15  And  so  strode  back  slow  to  the  wounded  king. 

Then  spoke  King  Arthur,  breathing  heavily : 
"What  is  it  thou  hast  seen  ?  or  what  hast  heard?" 

And  answer  made  the  bold  Sir  Bedivere : 
"  I  heard  the  water  lapping  on  the  crag, 
20  And  the  long  ripple  washing  in  the  reeds." 

To  whom  replied  King  Arthur,  much  in  wrath : 
"  Ah,  miserable  and  unkind,  untrue, 
Unknightly,  traitor-hearted !  Woe  is  me  ! 
Authority  forgets  a  dying  king, 


273 

Laid  widowed  of  the  power  in  his  eye 

That  bowed  the  will.    I  see  thee  what  thou  art, 

For  thou,  the  latest-left  of  all  my  knights, 

In  whom  should  meet  the  offices  of  all, 

Thou  wouldst  betray  me  for  the  precious  hilt ;  5 

Either  from  lust  of  gold,  or  like  a  girl 

Valuing  the  giddy  pleasure  of  the  eyes. 

Yet,  for  a  man  may  fail  in  duty  twice, 

And  the  third  time  may  prosper,  get  thee  hence: 

But,  if  thou  spare  to  fling  Excalibur,  10 

I  will  arise  and  slay  thee  with  my  hands." 

Then  quickly  rose  Sir  Bedivere,  and  ran, 
And,  leaping  down  the  ridges  lightly,  plunged 
Among  the  bulrush  beds,  and  clutched  the  sword, 
And  strongly  wheeled  and  threw  it.   The  great  brand  15 
Made  lightnings  in  the  splendor  of  the  moon, 
And  flashing  round  and  round,  and  whirled  in  an  arch, 
Shot  like  a  streamer  of  the  northern  morn, 
Seen  where  the  moving  isles  of  winter  shock 
By  night,  with  noises  of  the  Northern  Sea.  20 

So  flashed  and  fell  the  brand  Excalibur : 
But  ere  he  dipt  the  surface,  rose  an  arm 
Clothed  in  white  samite,  mystic,  wonderful, 
And  caught  him  by  the  hilt,  and  brandished  him 
Three  times,  and  drew  him  under  in  the  mere.  25 

And  lightly  went  the  other  to  the  king. 


274 

Then  spoke  King  Arthur,  drawing  thicker  breath : 
"  Now  see  I  by  thine  eyes  that  this  is  done. 
Speak  out ;  what  is  it  thou  hast  heard,  or  seen?" 

And  answer  made  the  bold  Sir  Bedivere : 
5  "  Sir  King,  I  closed  mine  eyelids,  lest  the  gems 

Should  blind  my  purpose,  for  I  never  saw, 
Nor  shall  see,  here  or  elsewhere,  till  I  die, 
Not  though  I  live  three  lives  of  mortal  men, 
So  great  a  miracle  as  }'onder  hilt. 
10  Then  with  both  hands  I  flung  him,  wheeling  him ; 

But  when  I  looked  again,  behold  an  arm, 
Clothed  in  white  samite,  mystic,  wonderful, 
That  caught  him  by  the  hilt,  and  brandished  him 
Three  times,  and  drew  him  under  in  the  mere." 

15  And  answer  made  King  Arthur,  breathing  hard  : 

"My  end  draws  nigh;  'tis  time  that  I  were  gone." 

From  The  Passing  of  Arthur 

King  Arthur's  Table :  the  knights  of  the  Round  Table.  —  Lyonnesse 
(li'o  n8s)  :  a  mythical  district  of  Cornwall  now  supposed  to  be  submerged 
"forty  fathoms  under  water. " — helm:  helmet ;  head  armor.  —  brand :  sword. 
—  Excallbur:  Arthur's  sword,  which  was  said  to  shine  as  bright  as  thirty 
torches.  According  to  the  old  story,  it  rose  one  day  by  magic  from  the  sur- 
face of  the  lake.  —  samite  (sa'mit)  :  a  very  rich  silk.  —  middle  mere  :  the 
middle  of  the  lake.  —  lightly :  swiftly.  —  hest :  command.  —  jacinth 
(ja'smth)  :    a  precious  stone.  —  fealty   (fe'alty)  :    loyalty.  —  lief  (leef)  : 

beloved.  — joust  (just)  :   a  mock  contest Maiden  of  the  Lake  :  the  Lady 

of  the  Lake,  who  gave  Arthur  his  sword.  —  lust :  desire.  —  isles  of  winter : 
icebergs.  —  him  :  the  sword  is  here  personified. 


275 
THE  DOORS  OF  OPPORTUNITY 

Hamilton  Wright  Mabie 
Hamilton  Wright  Mabie  is  a  well-known  American  editor  and  author. 

Fairy  tales  interest  us  because  they  give  us  pictures  of 
a  world  in  which  men  do  marvelous  things  with  ease,  and 
are  helped  or  hindered  by  all  manner  of  small  and  great 
creatures  who  lurk  and  hide  in  forests  and  underground ;  5 
and  magic  delights  us  because  it  accomplishes  so  much 
with  means  so  few  and  materials  so  apparently  inadequate. 

In  like  manner  and  for  the  same  reason  men  are  always 
eager  to  hear  the  stories  of  heroes,  those  who  have  over- 
come great  difficulties,  surmounted  great  obstacles,  and  10 
won  the  race  in  the  face  of  all  kinds  of  discouragement. 
Men  rejoice  in  the  success  of  those  who,  like  Washington 
and  Gladstone,  start  with  many  advantages,  and  instead 
of  being  indolent  are  stimulated  to  great  exertion  by  great 
opportunities  ;  but  they  care  most  of  all  for  the  success  of  15 
those  who,  like  Lincoln,  begin  with  nothing  except  the 
capital  of  character  and  the  capacity  for  work,  and  end  at 
the  very  summit  of  usefulness  and  honor. 

In  the  careers  of  such  men  there  is  a  touch  of  magic,  a 
bit  of  the  old  fairy  tale  ;  but  in  the  old  stories  man  is  20 
helped  by  fairies,  elves,  kobolds,  and  many  other  strange 
creatures,  and  in  the  modern  story  he  helps  himself.    There 
is  much  that  is  wonderful  in  the  results  secured  by  these 


276 

modern  magicians,  but  there  is  nothing  wonderful  in  the 
process  by  which  the  results  are  secured. 

There  is  no  mystery  about  success,  no  intervention  of 
genii  or  fairies,  no  luck  or  fortune.  Luck,  fate,  fortune, 
5  and  chance  are  words  which  have  no  place  in  the  speech 
of  great  men.  A  man's  luck  is  in  himself,  his  chance  is 
in  his  ability  to  get  something  to  do,  and  his  fortune  in  the 
skill  and  energy  with  which  he  does  it.  When  it  is  said 
that  a  man  is  lucky  it  means  that  he  has  brains  and  uses 

10  them ;  when  it  is  said  that  things  come  his  way  it  means 
that  he  has  gone  after  things.  The  theory  that  success 
is  a  matter  of  accident,  and  that  opportunities  come  by 
chance,  is  often  used  by  weak  and  inefficient  men  to  ex- 
plain their  failures  ;   it  is  disproven  by  the  lives  of  the 

15  heroes.  The  heroes  know  nothing  of  accident  and  luck  ; 
they  know  everything  about  integrity,  energy,  courage, 
and  faith. 

In  all  the  fairy  tales  there  is  nothing  more  wonderful 
than   the  story  of  Benjamin  Franklin,  the  printer's  ap- 

20  prentice,  who  became  the  chief  figure  in  the  most  brilliant 
city  in  the  world.  His  career  must  have  been  as  much  of 
a  romance  to  him  as  it  is  to  us.  He  could  not  have 
dreamed  that  a  future  of  such  extraordinary  relationships 
with  great  men  abroad,  of  such  unusual  public  influence, 

25  was  to  be  his.  But  he  set  his  face  in  a  certain  direction, 
put  energy  and  enthusiasm  into  his  work,  and  straight- 
way opportunities  began  to  present  themselves. 


277 

At  the  start  opportunities  are  rarely  very  striking  or 
promising ;  they  are  often  very  small  gates  into  what 
appears  to  be  very  small  fields  of  action ;  but  let  a  man 
pass  through  them  with  resolution  and  intelligence,  and 
immediately  the  field  widens  until  it  takes  on,  at  times,  5 
the  scope  of  a  continent. 

The  world  looks  very  hard  to  the  young  man ;  all  the 
places  are  filled ;  everybody  is  preoccupied,  and  there 
seems  to  be  no  chance  for  a  newcomer.  Let  him  show  a 
little  heroic  quality,  however,  and  men  are  quick  to  make  10 
a  place  for  him ;  let  him  put  energy,  pluck,  integrity,  and 
intelligence  into  his  work,  and  doors  begin  to  open  under 
the  pressure  of  his  strong  hand. 

Large  opportunities  in  the  hands  of  small  men  come 
to  nothing,  but  small  opportunities  in  the  hands  of  large  15 
men  become  great.  All  that  a  strong  man  ought  to  ask 
for  is  an  opportunity ;  the  rest  he  should  do  for  himself. 
This  is  the  record  of  the  heroes, — those  who  have  worked, 
dared,  aspired,  and  achieved ;  who  have  poured  their 
vitality  into  their  work,  not  simply  for  what  they  could  20 
get  out  of  it,  but  because  it  is  the  privilege  and  the  joy  of 
a  real  man  to  share  the  experience  of  his  fellows  and  the 

burdens  of  society.  t ,  . ,     , 

•*  Abridged 

kobold  (ko'bold)  :  a  household  fairy  like  the  Scottish  brownie. — genii 
(je'n!  I)  :  powerful  spirits  in  Eastern  fairy  tales.  — the  most  brilliant  city  : 
Paris.    Franklin  was  sent  as  ambassador  to  the  court  of  France. 


278 
OPPORTUNITY 

Edward  Rowland   Sill 

Edward  Rowland  Sill  (1841-1887)  was  an  American  poet.  The 
earnestness  and  strength  of  his  character  are  shown  in  his  verse. 

This  I  beheld,  or  dreamed  it  in  a  dream :  — 
There  spread  a  cloud  of  dust  along  a  plain ; 

5      And  underneath  the  cloud,  or  in  it,  raged 
A  furious  battle,  and  men  yelled,  and  swords 
Shocked  upon  swords  and  shields.    A  prince's  banner 
Wavered,  then  staggered  backward,  hemmed  by  foes. 
A  craven  hung  along  the  battle's  edge, 

io      And  thought,  "  Had  I  a  sword  of  keener  steel  — 
That  blue  blade  that  the  king's  son  bears  —  but  this 
Blunt  thing — !  "  he  snapt  and  flung  it  from  his  hand, 
And  lowering  crept  away  and  left  the  field. 
Then  came  the  king's  son,  wounded,  sore  bestead, 

15      And  weaponless,  and  saw  the  broken  sword, 
Hilt-buried  in  the  dry  and  trodden  sand, 
And  ran  and  snatched  it ;  and  with  battle  shout 
Lifted  afresh  he  hewed  his  enemy  down, 
And  saved  a  great  cause  that  heroic  day. 

shocked:  met  with  a  shock. — craven:  coward.  —  blue  blade:  a  blade 
of  finely  tempered  steel.  —  lowering:  gloomy,  sulky.  —  sore  bestead :  in 
great  danger. 


279 
THE  WAY  TO  WEALTH 

Benjamin  Franklin 

Benjamin  Franklin  (1706-1790)  was  one  of  the  most  remarkable 
men  of  his  time.  As  statesman  and  scientist  he  was  preeminent,  and  his 
literary  ability  was  of  a  high  order.  His  career  is  familiar  to  all  students 
of  American  history.  The  following  pages  are  from  the  last  of  his  series 
of  almanacs.  5 

I  stopped  my  horse  lately  where  a  great  number  of 
people  were  collected  at  an  auction  of  merchants'  goods. 
The  hour  of  the  sale  not  being  come,  they  were  conversing 
on  the  badness  of  the  times ;  and  one  of  the  company 
called  to  a  plain,  clean,  old  man,  with  white  locks  :  "  Pray,  10 
Father  Abraham,  what  think  you  of  the  times  ?  Will  not 
these  heavy  taxes  quite  ruin  the  country  ?  How  shall  we 
ever  be  able  to  pay  them  ?  What  would  you  advise  us  to 
do?"  Father  Abraham  stood  up  and  replied:  "If  you 
would  have  my  advice,  I  will  give  it  to  you  in  short,  for  15 
'A  word  to  the  wise  is  enough,'  as  Poor  Kichard  says." 
They  joined  in  desiring  him  to  speak  his  mind,  and 
when  they  had  gathered  round  him  he  proceeded  as  follows : 

"Friends,"  said  he,  "  the  taxes  are  indeed  very  heavy,  and 
if  those  laid  on  by  the  government  were  the  only  ones  we  20 
had  to  pay,  we  might  more  easily  discharge  them,  but  we 
have  many  others  and  much  more  grievous  to  some  of  us. 
We  are  taxed  twice  as  much  by  our  idleness,  three  times  as 
much  by  our  pride,  and  four  times  as  much  by  our  folly. 


280 

However,  let  us  hearken  to  good  advice  and  something 
may  be  done  for  us ;  *  God  helps  them  that  help  them- 
selves/ as  Poor  Richard  says. 

"  It  would  be  thought  a  hard  government  that  should 

5  tax  its  people  one  tenth  part  of  their  time,  to  be  employed 
in  its  service,  but  idleness  taxes  many  of  us  much  more ; 
sloth  by  bringing  on  diseases  absolutely  shortens  life. 
'  Sloth,  like  rust,  consumes  faster  than  labor  wears,  while 
the  used  key  is  always  bright,'  as  Poor  Richard  says. 

10  " '  If  time  be  of  all  things  the  most  precious,  wasting 
time  must  be,'  as  Poor  Richard  says,  '  the  greatest  prodi- 
gality,' since,  as  he  elsewhere  tells  us,  '  Lost  time  is 
never  found  again.'  '  Sloth  makes  all  things  difficult,  but 
industry  all  things  easy;'   and  'He  that  riseth  late  must 

15  trot  all  day,  and  shall  scarce  overtake  his  business  at 
night,'  while  \  Laziness  travels  so  slowly  that  Poverty  soon 
overtakes  him.  Drive  thy  business,  let  not  that  drive 
thee;'  and  '  Early  to  bed  and  early  to  rise  makes  a  man 
healthy,  wealthy,  and  wise,'  as  Poor  Richard  says. 

20  "  So  what  signifies  wishing  and  hoping  for  better  times  ? 
We  may  make  these  times  better  if  we  bestir  ourselves. 
*  Industry  need  not  wish,  and  he  that  lives  upon  hopes  will 
die  fasting.'  '  He  that  hath  a  trade  hath  an  estate,  and  he 
that  hath  a  calling  hath  an  office  of  profit  and  honor.' 

25  What  though  you  have  found  no  treasure,  nor  has  any 
rich  relation  left  you  a  legacy,  '  Diligence  is  the  mother  of 
good  luck,  and  God  gives  all  things  to  industry.    Then 


•     281 

plow  deep  while  sluggards  sleep,  and  you  shall  have  corn 
to  sell  and  to  keep.'  '  One  to-day  is  worth  two  to-morrows,' 
as  Poor  Richard  says ;  and  further  '  Never  leave  that  till 
to-morrow  which,  you  can  do  to-day.'  If  you  were  a  serv- 
ant, would  you  not  be  ashamed  that  a  good  master  should  5 
catch  you  idle  ?  Are  you,  then,  your  own  master  ?  Be 
ashamed  to  catch  yourself  idle  when  there  is  so  much  to 
be  done  for  yourself,  your  family,  and  your  country. 
Handle  your  tools  without  mittens;  remember  that  'The 
cat  in  gloves  catches  no  mice,'  as  Poor  Richard  says.  It  is  10 
true  there  is  much  to  be  done,  and  perhaps  you  are  weak- 
handed,  but  stick  to  it  steadily  and  you  will  see  great 
effects,  for  '  Constant  dropping  wears  away  stones,'  and 
'  Little  strokes  fell  great  oaks.' 

"  But  with  our  industry  we  must  likewise  be  steady,  15 
settled,  and  careful ;  for,  as  Poor  Richard  says  :     . 

c  I  never  saw  an  oft-removed  tree 

Nor  yet  an  oft-removed  family, 

That  throve  so  well  as  those  that  settled  be.' 

"c  A  little  neglect  may  breed  great  mischief;  for  want  20 
of  a  nail  the  shoe  was  lost,  for  want  of  a  shoe  the  horse 
was  lost,  and  for  want  of  a  horse  the  rider  was  lost,  being 
overtaken  and  slain  by  the  enemy  ;  all  for  want  of  a  little 
care  about  a  horseshoe  nail.' 

"  So  much  for  industry,  my  friends,  and  attention  to  25 
one's  own  business ;  but  to  these  we  must  add  frugality, 
if  we  would  make  our  industry  more  certainly  successful. 


282 

i  If  you  would  be  wealthy,  think  of  saving  as  well  as  of 
getting.  The  Indies  have  not  made  Spain  rich,  because 
her  outgoes  are  greater  than  her  incomes.' 

"  Away  then  with  your  expensive  follies,  and  you  will 

5  not  then  have  so  much  cause  to  complain  of  hard  times 
and  heavy  taxes.  Beware  of  little  expenses ;  '  A  small 
leak  will  sink  a  great  ship,'  as  Poor  Richard  says ;  and 
again,  '  Who  dainties  love  shall  beggars  prove ; '  and 
moreover,  '  Fools  make  feasts  and  wise  men  eat  them.' 

10  "  Here  you  are  all  got  together  at  this  sale  of  fineries 
and  knickknacks.  You  call  them  goods;  but  if  you  do  not 
take  care  they  will  prove  evils  to  some  of  you.  You  expect 
they  will  be  sold  cheap,  and  perhaps  they  may  for  less  than 
they  cost  ;  but  if  you  have  no  occasion  for  them,  they  must 

15  be  dear  to  you.  Remember  what  Poor  Richard  says  :  '  Buy 
what  thou  hast  no  need  of  and  ere  long  thou  shalt  sell  thy 
necessaries.'  And  again,  '  At  a  great  pennyworth  pause  a 
while.'  He  means  that  perhaps  the  cheapness  is  apparent 
only,  and  not  real ;  or  the  bargain,  by  straitening  thee  in 

20  thy  business,  may  do  thee  more  harm  than  good.  For  in 
another  place  he  says,  '  Many  have  been  ruined  by  buying 
good  pennyworths.  Silks  and  satins,  scarlet  and  velvets, 
put  out  the  kitchen  fire.' 

"  These  are  not  the  necessaries  of  life  ;  they  can  scarcely 

25  be  called  the  conveniences ;  and  yet,  only  because  they  look 
pretty,  how  many  want  to  have  them  !  By  these  and  other 
extravagances  the  genteel  are  reduced  to  poverty  and  forced 


283 

to  borrow  of  those  whom  they  formerly  despised,  but  who, 
through  industry  and  frugality,  have  maintained  their 
standing;  in  which  case  it  appears  plainly  that  'A  plow- 
man on  his  legs  is  higher  than  a  gentleman  on  his  knees,' 
as  Poor  Richard  says.  '  Always  taking  out  of  the  meal-tub  5 
and  never  putting  in  soon  comes  to  the  bottom/  and 
then  i  When  the  well  is  dry  they  know  the  worth  of  water.' 
But  this  they  might  have  known  before,  if  they  had  taken 
his  advice.  '  If  you  would  know  the  value  of  money,  go 
and  try  to  borrow  some ;  for  he  that  goes  a-borrowing  goes  10 
a-sorrowing,'  as  Poor  Richard  says  ;  and,  indeed,  so  does  he 
that  lends  to  such  people,  when  he  goes  to  get  it  again. 

"  And  now  to  conclude,  *  Experience  keeps  a  dear  school, 
but  fools  will  learn  in  no  other,'  as  Poor  Richard  says,  and 
scarce  in  that,  for  it  is  true,  '  We  may  give  advice,  but  we  15 
cannot  give  conduct.'  However,  remember  this, '  They  that 
won't  be  counseled,  cannot  be  helped;'  and  further,  that 
'If  you  will  not  hear  reason,  she  will  surely  rap  your 
knuckles.'  " 

Thus  the  old  gentleman  ended  his  harangue.  The  people  20 
heard  it  and  approved  the  doctrine  ;  and  immediately  prac- 
ticed the  contrary,  just  as  if  it  had  been  a  sermon  ;  for  the 
auction  opened,  and  they  began  to  buy  extravagantly. 

Abridged 

Poor  Richard  :  Poor  Richard'*  Almanac  was  printed  by  Franklin,  and  his 
literary  fame  rests  largely  upon  it.  While  his  proverbs  are  not  all  his  own, 
he  had  an  ingenious  way  of  combining  his  bits  of  practical  wisdom. 


284 


CATILINE'S  SPEECH  ON  HIS  BANISHMENT 


George  Croly 

George  Croly  (1780-1860)  was  an  Irish  writer,  who  for  many  years 
was  also  known  as  an  eloquent  pulpit  orator.  His  Catiline  was  called  "  a 
splendid  performance." 

Note.    In  63  b.c.  a  conspiracy,  headed  by  Catiline,  was  formed  against 
5  the  Roman  republic.    When  his  treachery  was  discovered  he  was  sentenced 
to  banishment  by  the  senate. 

Banished  from  Rome  !  what 's  banished,  but  set  free 
From  daily  contact  of  the  things  I  loathe  ? 
"  Tried  and  convicted  traitor !  "    Who  says  this  ? 
10      Who  '11  prove  it  at  his  peril  on  my  head  ? 

Banished  ?  —  I  thank  you  for  't.    It  breaks  my  chain ! 
I  held  some  slack  allegiance  till  this  hour.  — 
But  noiv,  my  sword  's  my  own.    Smile  on,  my  lords ; 
I  scorn  to  count  what  feelings,  withered  hopes, 


285 

Strong  provocations,  bitter,  burning  wrongs, 

I  have  within  my  heart's  hot  cells  shut  up, 

To  leave  you  in  your  lazy  dignities. 

But  here  I  stand  and  scoff  you ;  here  I  fling 

Hatred  and  full  defiance  in  your  face.  5 

Your  consul 's  merciful.    For  this  all  thanks. 

He  dares  not  touch  a  hair  of  Catiline. 

"Traitor!"  I  go,  but  I  return.    This — trial! 

Here  I  devote  your  senate  !    I  've  had  wrongs, 

To  stir  a  fever  in  the  blood  of  age,  10 

Or  make  the  infant's  sinews  strong  as  steel. 

This  day 's  the  birth  of  sorrows  !    This  hour's  work 

Will  breed  proscriptions.  —  Look  to  your  hearths,  my 

lords. 
For  there  henceforth  shall  sit  for  household  gods  15 

Shapes  hot  from  Tartarus  !  —  all  shames  and  crimes  :  — 
Wan  Treachery  with  his  thirsty  dagger  drawn ; 
Suspicion,  poisoning  his  brother's  cup ; 
Naked  Rebellion,  with  the  torch  and  ax, 
Making  his  wild  sport  of  your  blazing  thrones ;  20 

Till  Anarchy  comes  down  on  you  like  night, 
And  Massacre  seals  Rome's  eternal  grave. 

Catiline  (c&t'I  lm)  :  a  famous  Roman  conspirator,  who  united  great 
audacity  and  craft.  He  was  denounced  by  the  orator  Cicero  before  the 
senate.  —  scoff  :  mock,  ridicule.  —  "  Traitor  "  :  Catiline  is  quoting  Cicero. 

—  This  —  trial:    spoken  in  scorn  as  of  an  imitation. — devote;   doom  to 
evil.  —  proscriptions  :  the  public  offer  of  a  reward  for -the  head  of  an  enemy. 

—  Tartarus  (tar'ta  rus)  :  the  lower  world  ;  a  place  of  punishment. 


286 
CLOUDS 

Edward  Rowland  Sill 

"  0  ether  divine ! "  cried  Prometheus ;  but  he  was 
chained  supine  on  the  rock  and  forced  to  see  the  sky.  We 
who  walk  erect  at  will  are  apt  to  confine  our  attention  to 
things  of  earth.  Now  and  then  we  find  a  person  who  has 
5  the  habit  of  looking  at  the  night  skies,  and  mayhap  knows 
the  constellations,  so  that  the  stars  are  not  accidental 
sparks  to  him  any  longer,  but  old  friends,  any  one  of  whose 
faces  would  be  missed  if  it  were  withdrawn.  But  who  looks 
upward  by  day  and  sees  the  clouds  ? 

10  Some  days  the  outlines  of  the  clouds  are  all  making  faces 
at  each  other :  merry  faces,  if  one  feels  in  that  mood ; 
solemn  faces,  if  that  is  the  masterful  feeling.  Why  should 
the  profiles  generally  be  looking  from  right  to  left?  Or 
is  that  only  an  idiosyncrasy  of  my  own  ?     Is  it  because 

15  one  sketches  a  profile  on  paper  with  the  right  hand,  and 
so  with  the  projecting  points  toward  the  left,  away  from 
the  hand  which  would  otherwise  hide  them  ? 

When  presently  we  are  able  to  sail  the  air  it  will  be 
pleasant  to  make  afternoon  excursions  among  the  summer 

20  clouds.  "  Come !  "  one  will  say  to  his  friend,  "  let  us  talk 
it  over  on  the  rosy  southeast  corner  of  that  mother-of-pearl 
mountain."  Or  we  shall  bid  John  unpack  the  luncheon 
basket   in  the  shade   of  yonder  floating   shelf   of  foamy 


287 

ivory;  or  we  shall  agree  to  meet,  at  half  past  two,  just 
under  the  billowy  chin  of  what  seems  an  aerial  Martha 
Washington. 

How  can  so  soft  and  fluffy  a  texture  hold  so  firm  an  out- 
line against  the  blue  and  catch  such  a  splendor  of  intense    5 
light  ?   As  it  comes  floating  and  toppling  across  the  sky, 
one  would  like  to  shoot  a  feather  bed  up  through  it  and 
let  the  azure  through  the  soft  hole. 

It  is  not  often  that  we  can  watch,  near  by,  the  rapid 
formation  of  cloud ;  but  it  once  happened  to  me  to  find  10 
myself  on  a  crag  precisely  underneath  the  line  of  low-cloud 
foundation.  Leaning  back  to  rest  against  the  rock  and 
looking  upward,  I  saw  the  mountain  drapery  weaving 
itself  —  out  of  nothing,  as  it  appeared :  blue  air  on  one 
side  of  the  line  ;  dark  slaty  films,  then  shreds,  then  masses  15 
of  flying  cloud  on  the  other.  Clear  across  the  sky  extended 
the  distinct  edge  of  this  swift  and  incessant  weaving.  It 
was  like  nothing  but  a  great  shadowy  banner  streaming  out 
in  the  gale  from  an  invisible  cord  strained  tight  against 
the  sky.    It  was  the  work  of  the  Earth  Spirit  in  Faust :      20 

At  the  roaring  loom  of  Time  I  ply 
And  weave  for  God  the  garment  thou  seest  him  by. 

Abridged 

Prometheus  (pro  me'  thus).:  according  to  the  old  Greek  story,  Prometheus, 
the  giver  of  human  life,  was  punished  by  being  chained  to  a  rock.  Eurip- 
ides, the  Greek  dramatist,  made  him  the  hero  of  one  of  his  plays.  —  supine 
(su  pin')  :  lying  on  the  back.  —  idiosyn'crasy :  some  peculiar  personal  char- 
acteristic. —  Faust  (fowst)  :  a  great  German  poem. 


288 
THE  FENCING  MATCH 

Edmond  Kostand 

Edmond  Rostand  is  a  French  poet  and  dramatist.  His  first  successful 
play,  Cyrano  de  Bergerac,  which  was  published  in  1897,  delighted  the 
literary  world. 

Note.  The  first  scenes  of  Cyrano  de  Bergerac,  from  which  the  follow- 
5  ing  pages  are  taken,  are  laid  in  an  open  court.  Spectators  have  gathered  to 
see  a  theatrical  exhibition,  but  their  attention  has  been  diverted  by  the 
fantastic  doings  of  Cyrano,  a  young  soldier  and  poet  who  is  noted  for  his 
cleverness  and  charm,  his  skill  in  fencing,  his  pride,  and  for  his  sensitive- 
ness in  regard  to  his  large  nose.  The  Count  de  Guiche,*  a  fashionable 
10  nobleman,  and  his  obsequious  friend,  the  Viscount  de  Valvert,  are  annoyed 
by  his  behavior. 

The  Count  de  Guiche.  He  begins  to  be  tiresome. 
The  Viscount  de  Valvert.  The  boaster  ! 

De  Guiche.  Will  no  one  answer  him  ? 
The  Viscount.  Not  one  ? 

But  wait !  I  '11  fling  a  shaft  at  him  myself. 

(He  advances  toward  Cyrano.) 

15  You  —  you  have  a  nose  —  a  nose  that 's  very  big ! 

Cyrano  (gravely).    Very. 

The  Viscount  (laughing).    Ha! 

Cyrano.  Is  that  all  ? 

The  Viscount.  Why  not  ? 

Cyrano.  Ah,  no,  young  man ;  that  seems  a  trifle  short. 
You  could  have  said  so  many  sharper  things 
By  varying  the  tone  a  little  —  thus  :  — 


289 

Aggressive :  Were  I  cursed  with  such  a  nose 

I  'd  amputate  it  e'er  the  day  should  close. 

Friendly  :  Does  it  not  bother  you  to  drink  ? 

Curious  :  For  scissors,  or  to  hold  your  ink  ? 

Descriptive  :  'T  is  a  rock,  a  cape,  a  tent  —  5 

Did  I  say  cape  f  Peninsula  I  meant. 

Gracious  :  A  charming  perch  for  little  birds  ! 

You  must  have  sympathy  beyond  all  words. 

Teasing :  When  fumes  from  pipe  and  nose  rise  higher 

Does  no  good  neighbor  ever  cry  out  Fire  f  10 

Prudent :  Be  careful,  for  a  weight  like  that 

Might  make  you  lose  your  balance,  lay  you  flat. 

Tender :  Please  have  a  small  umbrella  made, 

Lest  in  the  sunshine  that  bright  hue  should  fade. 

Wise  :  Only  Aristophanes'  queer  beast,  15 

The  Hippo-camel-elephant  at  least, 

Could  wear  upon  his  face  that  lump  of  bone 

And  proudly  swear  it  was  his  very  own. 

Easy  :  Is  this  Dame  Fashion's  latest  crook  ? 

Do  hang  your  hat  on  such  a  handy  hook !  20 

Weighty :  No  wind,  save  when  the  mistral  blows, 

Could  bring  a  cold  to  that  majestic  nose. 

Alarmed :  'T  would  be  the  Red  Sea  should  it  bleed ! 

Admiring  :  A  perfumer's  sign  indeed  ! 

Lyric  :  A  shell  ?  A  Triton  bold  are  you  ?  25 

Simple  :  A  monument !   Is  it  on  view  ? 

Respectful :  Let  me  take  a  humble  tone  ! 


290 

How  grand  to  have  a  mansion  of  one's  own ! 

Rustic  :  Oh,  nonsense  !  Call  that  thing  a  nose  ? 

'T  is  a  prize  turnip  or  a  cabbage  rose.  , 

Military  :  Aim  at  the  cavalry  ! 
5  Practical :  Prize  for  a  lottery ! 

Such,  my  dear  sir,  is  what  you  might  have  said, 

Had  there  been  room  for  brains  in  that  small  head. 

Though  let  me  own  that  had  you  had  the  wit, 

You  never  would  have  said  one  word  of  it. 
10  I  take  much  from  myself  —  that  is  quite  true, 

But  not  a  hint  of  insolence  from  you. 
De  Guiche.  Viscount,  come  away ! 

The  ViscOUTlt  (choking  with  helpless  rage). 

But  what  disgrace  ! 
This  country  boor,  who  wears  no  gloves,  no  lace, 
No  ribbons,  —  flouts  me  to  my  very  face  ! 
15       Cyrano.  'T  is  true  my  elegance  is  all  inside  : 
In  paltry  trappings  I  take  little  pride. 
I  am  no  dandy  in  my  street  array, 
And  yet  I  am  as  well  dressed  in  my  way. 
Because,  you  see,  although  your  gems  are  bright 
My  honor  is  unsoiled,  my  conscience  white. 

20         The   VisCOUnt  (angrily).  Sir ! 

Cyrano.  I  have  no  gloves  ?  —  a  sad  affair ! 
I  had  one  once,  the  last  of  an  old  pair. 
Perhaps,  not  having  for  the  thing  a  place 
I  may  have  flung  it  in  some  upstart's  face. 


291 

The    Viscount.     Scoundrel !     Stupid    fellow !     Jumping 
jack! 

Cyra7lO  (taking  off  his  hat  and  bowing  politely  as  if  the  Viscount  had 

introduced  himself).  And  I  —  am  Cyrano  de  Bergerac. 

The   Viscount  (exasperated).    Clown  ! 

Cyrano.  Oh !  Oh  ! 

The  Viscount.  What  is  he  saying  now  ? 

Cyrano.  It  must  be  moved ;  it 's  very  stiff  and  sore,  5 

Because,  you  see,  I  have  n't  used  it  more. 

The  Viscount.  What's  the  matter  with  you? 

Cyrano.  'T  is  my  sword. 

I  really  fear  it  has  the  cramp,  my  lord. 

The  Viscount.  Excellent !    And  so  has  mine,  I  vow. 

Cyrano.  A  charming  stroke  I  'm  going  to  show  you  now.  10 

The  Viscount  (contemptuously).    Poet ! 

Cyrano.  Yes,  poet,  sir.    To  prove  my  skill 
I'll  improvise  a  neat  ballade 
While  we  are  fencing  —  on  my  word  I  will ! 

The  Viscount.  Ballade  ?  What 's  that  ?  Ballade  ?  15 

Cyrano.  Know  then,  my  lord,  the  true  ballade  contains 
Three  eight-versed  stanzas  — 

The  Viscount.  Bother  your  quatrains ! 

Cyrano.  'T  is  the  envoi  has  four ;  you  apprehend  ? 

The    VisCOUnt  (impatiently).     Oh  ! 

Cyrano.  I  '11  make  one  while  we  fight,  my  friend,  20 

And  touch  you  neatly  at  the  very  end. 
The  Viscount.  No ! 


292 

Cyrano.  No  ?    (Declaiming) 

Ballade  of  a  duel  one  day  fought 
Between  a  poet  and  a  good-for-n aught. 

The  Viscount.  And  what  may  that  be,  if  you  please  ? 
5       Cyrano.  That 's  the  title. 
Wait  .till  I  choose  my  rhymes  —I'm  ready  now. 

(The  spectators  range  themselves  around  the  fencers. 
Cyrano  times  his  action  to  his  words.) 

My  cap  and  cloak  with  courtly  grace 

I  fling  upon  the  dusty  sward  ; 
And  stepping  forth  a  little  space 
10  I  now  unsheathe  my  trusty  sword. 

Free  as  the  wind  harp's  lightest  chord, 

Agile  as  any  Scaramouche, 
I  warn  you,  ere  we  rest  on  guard, 
Upon  the  envoi's  end  I  touch  ! 

15  'T  were  better  you  had  held  your  peace  ; 

Now  choose  where  I  shall  hit,  my  lord! 
Your  side  ?  Your  thigh  ?  Select  the  place !  — 
Perhaps  beneath  that  dangling  cord ! 
Ding-dong  !  —  A  jangle  sings  my  sword  ; 
20  You  think  its  point  may  swerve  ?  Not  much ! 

Beware !  the  event  is  drawing  toward  ! 
Upon  the  envoi's  end  I  touch ! 

Alack !  I  need  a  rhyme  for  ace  ; 
Ah,  now  you  blanch  and  so  afford 
25  Me  chance  to  call  you  "  Flour-face  !  " 

Tic-tac !  You  wildly  thrust,  I  ward, 


293 


294 

And,  ere  your  balance  is  restored, 

I  free  the  heart  line  thus !  Now  clutch 

Thy  foolish  spit,  thou  scullion  f roward ! 
Upon  the  envoi's  end  I  touch ! 

(He  announces  solemnly)  ENVOI 

5  Prince,  your  defeat  will  be  deplored. 

Come,  find  excuse  for  such  and  such ! 
Cut !  Feint !  Aha !  I  keep  my  word, 
Upon  the  envoi's  end  I  touch ! 

(Amid  great  applause  Cyrano  "  touches  "  his  opponent  and  sheathes  his 
sword  as  the  Viscount  is  led  away  by  his  friends.) 

Fencing  match :  in  fencing  a  smallsword  or  foil  is  used,  and  the  aim 
of  each  fencer  is  to  touch,  be  it  ever  so  lightly,  the  person  of  his  oppo- 
nent. Great  dexterity  is  often  shown  by  skillful  fencers  in  warding  off  an 
attack.  The  contest  is  ended  as  soon  as  one  of  the  fencers  succeeds  in 
touching  the  other  with  the  point  of  his  sword  or  foil.  —  Cyrano  de 
Bergerac  (se'ra  no  de  bair'zhe  rac)  :  a  real  character  in  French  history  of 
the  seventeenth  century.  He  was  a  dramatic  poet  and  was  also  noted  as  a 
duelist.  — de  Guiche  (de  gweesh).  — Viscount  de  Valvert  (vi  count  de  val- 
vair).  —  a  shaft :  a  figure  of  speech  for  a  witty  saying.  — Aristophanes  (ar- 
Is  tSf'a  nes)  :  a  Greek  dramatist.  In  some  of  his  plays  birds  and  animals 
had  parts.  —  mistral :  a  cold  northwest  wind  experienced  in  southern 
France.  —  flouts  :  insults.  —  trappings  :  ornaments.  —  glove  :  a  glove  flung 
in  a  man's  face  was  a  challenge  to  fight.  —  ballade  (bal  lad')  :  a  form  of 
French  verse  in  which  only  three  rhymes  are  permitted  in  the  twenty-eight 
lines.  Each  stanza  ends  with  the  refrain,  and  the  whole  poem  with  the 
envoi.  The  ballade  bears  no  resemblance  to  the  English  ballad.  —  quatrain  : 
a  stanza  having  four  lines.  —  envoi  (aN  vwa)  :  a  final  stanza,  summing- 
up  or  concluding  the  poem.  — sward  (sward)  :  grass. — Scaramouche  (scar- 
a  mouch)  :  the  buffoon  or  clown  in  old  Italian  plays.  —  drawing  toward  : 
drawing  near.  —  thrust,  ward,  heart  line  :  fencing  terms.  —  spit :  a  cooking 
utensil  used  in  old  times  by  kitchen  boys  or  scullions  in  roasting  meat  before 
an  open  fire.  — cut,  feint :  fencing  terms,  the  meaning  of  which  is  plain. 


295 
THE  CAT  BY  THE  FIRE 

Leigh  Hunt 
Leigh  Hunt  (1784-1859)  was  an  English  essayist  and  poet. 

A  blazing  fire,  a  warm  rug,  candles  lit  and  curtains 
drawn,  the  kettle  on  for  tea,  and,  finally,  the  cat  before 
you,  attracting  your  attention,  — it  is  a  scene  which  every- 
body likes,  unless  he  has  a  morbid  aversion  to  cats,  which  5 
is  not  common.  There  are  some  nice  inquirers,  it  is  true, 
who  are  apt  to  make  uneasy  comparisons  of  cats  with 
dogs,  —  to  say  they  are  not  so  loving,  that  they  prefer  the 
house  to  the  man,  etc.  But  agreeably  to  the  good  old 
maxim  that  "comparisons  are  odious,"  our  readers,  we  10 
hope,  will  continue  to  like  what  is  likable  in  anything, 
for  its  own  sake,  without  trying  to  render  it  unlikable 
from  its  inferiority  to  something  else ;  a  process  by  which 
we  might  ingeniously  contrive  to  put  soot  into  every  dish 
that  is  set  before  us,  and  to  reject  one  thing  after  another,  15 
till  we  are  pleased  with  nothing.  Here  is  a  good  fireside, 
and  a  cat  to  it ;  and  it  would  be  our  own  fault  if  in  re- 
moving to  another  house  and  another  fireside  we  did  not 
take  care  that  the  cat  removed  with  us. 

The  cat  purrs,  as  if  it  applauded  our  consideration,  and  20 
gently  moves  its  tail.   What  an  odd  expression  of  the 
power  to  be  irritable  and  the  will  to  be  pleased  there  is  in 
its  face  as  it  looks  up  to  us !    We  must  own  that  we  do 


296 

not  prefer  a  cat  in  the  act  of  purring,  or  of  looking  in 
that  manner.  It  reminds  us  of  the  sort  of  smile  or  simmer 
{simper  is  too  weak  and  fleeting  a  word)  that  is  apt  to  be 
in  the  faces  of  irritable  people  when  they  are  pleased  to 
5  be  in  a  state  of  satisfaction.  We  prefer,  for  a  general  ex- 
pression, the  cat  in  a  quiet,  unpretending  state  and  the 
human  countenance  with  a  look  indicative  of  habitual 
grace  and  composure,  as  if  it  were  not  necessary  to  take 
any  violent  steps  to  prove  its  amiability. 

10  But  cats  resemble  tigers  ?  They  are  tigers  in  miniature  ? 
Well,  —  and  very  pretty  miniatures  they  are.  And  what 
has  the  tiger  himself  done  that  he  has  not  a  right,  to  his 
dinner  as  well  as  Jones  ?  A  tiger  treats  a  man  much  as 
a  cat  does  a  mouse.    Granted,  but  we  have  no  reason  to 

15  suppose  that  he  is  aware  of  the  man's  sufferings,  or  means 
anything  but  to  satisfy  his  hunger ;  and  what  have  the 
butcher  and  poulterer  been  about,  meanwhile  ?  The  tiger, 
it  is  true,  lays  about  him  a  little  superfluously  sometimes, 
when  he  gets  into  a  sheepfold,  and  kills  more  than  he 

20  eats ;  but  does  not  the  squire  or  the  marquis  do  pretty 
much  the  same  in  the  month  of  September  ? 

And  so  we  bring  our  thoughts  back  to  the  fireside,  and 
look  at  the  cat.  Poor  Pussy  !  she  looks  up  at  us  again, 
as  if  she  thanked  us  for  those  vindications  of  dinner; 

25  and  symbolically  gives  a  twist  of  a  yawn,  and  a  lick 
to  her  whiskers.  Now  she  proceeds  to  clean  herself  all 
over,  having  a  just  sense  of  the  demands  of  her  elegant 


297 

person,  beginning  judiciously  with  her  paws,  and  fetching 
amazing  tongues  at  her  hind  hips.  Anon  she  scratches 
her  neck  with  a  foot  of  rapid  delight,  leaning  her  head 
towards  it  and  shutting  her  eyes,  half  to  accommodate  the 
action  of  the  skin  and  half  to  enjoy  the  luxury.  She  then  5 
rewards  her  paws  with  a  few  more  touches.  Look  at  the 
action  of  her  head  and  neck ;  how  pleasing  it  is,  the  ears 
pointed  forward  and  the  neck  gently  arching  to  and  fro  ! 
Finally,  she  gives  a  sneeze,  and  another  twist  of  mouth 
and  whiskers,  and  then,  curling  her  tail  towards  her  front  10 
claws,  settles  herself  on  her  hind  quarters,  in  an  attitude 
of  bland  meditation. 

What  does  she  think  of  ?  of  her  saucer  of  milk  at 
breakfast  ?  or  of  the  thump  she  got  yesterday  in  the 
kitchen  for  stealing  the  meat  ?  or  of  her  little  ones,  some  15 
of  whom  are  now  large,  and  all  of  them  gone  ?  Is  that 
among  her  recollections  when  she  looks  pensive?  Does 
she  taste  of  the  noble  sorrows  of  man  ? 

That  lapping  of  the  milk  out  of  the  saucer  is  what  one's 
human  thirst  cannot  sympathize  with.  It  seems  as  if  there  20 
could  be  no  satisfaction  in  such  a  series  of  atoms  of  drink. 
Yet  the  saucer  is  soon  emptied,  and  there  is  a  refresh- 
ment to  one's  ears  in  that  sound  of  plashing  with  which 
the  action  is  accompanied,  and  which  seems  indicative  of 
a  like  comfort  to  Pussy's  mouth.  Her  tongue  is  thin  and  25 
can  make  a  spoon  of  itself.  This,  however,  is  common 
to  other  quadrupeds,  and  does  not,  therefore,  particularly 


298 

belong  to  our  feline  consideration.  Not  so  the  electricity 
of  her  coat,  which  gives  out  sparks  under  the  hand,  her 
passion  for  the  herb  valerian  (did  the  reader  ever  see  a 
cat  roll  in  it  ?  it  is  a  mad  sight)  and  other  singular  deli- 
5  cacies  of  nature,  among  which  perhaps  is  to  be  reckoned 
her  taste  for  fish,  a  creature  with  whose  element  she  has 
so  little  to  do  that  she  is  supposed  even  to  abhor  it, 
though  lately  we  read  somewhere  of  a  swimming  cat  that 
used  to  fish  for  itself.    And  this  reminds  us  of  an  exquisite 

10  anecdote  of  dear,  dogmatic,  diseased,  thoughtful,  surly, 
charitable  Johnson,  who  would  go  out  of  doors  himself 
and  buy  oysters  for  his  cat,  because  his  servant  was  too 
proud  to  do  it !  Be  assured  that  he  thought  nothing  of 
"  condescension  "  in  it,  or  of  being  eccentric.    He  was  sin- 

15  gular  in  some  things,  because  he  could  not  help  it,  but 
he  hated  eccentricity.  No,  in  his  best  moments  he  felt 
himself  simply  to  be  a  man,  and  a  good  man  too,  though 
a  frail,  —  one  that  in  virtue  as  well  as  humility,  and  in  a 
knowledge  of  his  ignorance  as   well  as  his  wisdom,  was 

20  desirous  of  being  a  Christian  philosopher ;  and  accord- 
ingly he  went  out  and  bought  food  for  his  hungry  cat, 
because  there  was  nobody  in  the  way  whom  he  had  a  right 
to  ask.  What  must  anybody  that  saw  him  have  thought, 
as  he  turned  up  Bolt  Court !     His  friend  Garrick  could 

25  not  have  done  as  much !  He  was  too  grand,  and  on 
the  great  "  stage  "  of  life.  Goldsmith  could,  but  he  would 
hardly  have  thought  of  it.    Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  with 


299 

his  fashionable,  fine -lady-painting  hand,  would  certainly 
have  shrunk  from  it.  Burke  would  have  reasoned  himself 
into  its  propriety,  but  he  would  have  reasoned  himself  out 
again.  Gibbon  !  —  imagine  its  being  put  into  the  head 
of  Gibbon !  He  and  his  bagwig  would  have  started  with  5 
horror ;  and  he  would  have  rung  the  bell  for  the  cook's- 
deputy's-under-assistant-errand-boy. 

Cats  at  firesides  live  luxuriously  and  are  the  picture  of 
comfort ;  but,  lest  they  should  not  bear  their  portion  of 
trouble  in  this  world,  they  have  the  drawbacks  of  being  10 
liable  to  be  shut  out  of  doors  on  cold  nights,  beatings 
from  the  "  aggravated  "  cooks,  overpettings  of  children 
(how  should  we  like  to  be  squeezed  and  pulled  about  in 
that  manner  by  some  great  patronizing'  giants  ?),  and  last, 
not  least,  horrible,  merciless  tramples  of  unconscious  15 
human  feet  and  unfeeling  legs  of  chairs.  Yet  Pussy  gets 
in  the  way  again,  as  before,  and  dares  all  the  feet  and  ma- 
hogany in  the  room.  Beautiful  present  sumcingness  of  a 
cat's  imagination !  —  confined  to  the  snug  circle  of  her 
own  sides  and  the  two  next  inches  of  rug  or  carpet.  20 

Abridged 

nice  :  particularly  careful ;  overscrupulous.  —  Johnson :  a  learned  but 
eccentric  English  scholar  of  the  eighteenth  century.  —  Bolt  Court :  a  court 
off  Fleet  Street,  London.  —  Garrick  :  a  famous  actor.  —  Reynolds  :  a  great 
painter. — Burke  :  a  celebrated  orator,  who  endeavored  to  persuade  the  Eng- 
lish government  to  conciliate  America  at  the  time  of  the  breaking  out  of  the 
Revolution.  — Gibbon:  an  eminent  English  historian. — aggravated:  used 
here  in  its  colloquial  sense  of  "irritated,"  but  quoted  because  such  use  is  not 
defensible.  The  true  meaning  of  the  word  is  u  intensified  "  or  "  increased." 


300 
THE  PURLOINED  LETTER  — I 

Edgar  Allan  Poe 

Edgar  Allan  Poe  (1809-1849)  was  an  American  poet  and  story-teller 
of  unusual  power.  The  melody  of  his  verse  has  rarely  been  surpassed. 
Poe's  career  was  a  brief  and  tragic  one,  but  he  belongs  with  the  most 
famous  of  the  writers  of  his  time. 

5        Note.    The  story  from  which  the  following  selection  is  adapted  is  one 
of  the  most  original  and  ingenious  of  Poe's  tales. 

At  Paris,  just  after  dark  one  gusty  autumn  evening,  I 
was  enjoying  the  twofold  luxury  of  meditation  and  a  meer- 
schaum in  company  with  my  friend  Dupin  in  his  little 
10  library.  Suddenly  the  door  of  our  apartment  was  thrown 
open  and  admitted  our  old  acquaintance,  the  prefect  of 
the  Parisian  police. 

We  gave  him  a  hearty  welcome,  for  there  was  nearly 

half  as  much  of  the  entertaining  as  of  the  contemptible 

15  about  the  man,  and  we  had  not  seen  him  for  several  years. 

"I  have  called  to  consult  you,"  he  explained,  u about 
some  official  business  that  has  occasioned  a  good  deal  of 
trouble." 

"  What  is  the  difficulty  now  ?  "  I  asked.  "  Nothing  very 
20  serious,  I  hope." 

"  Oh,  no ! "  he  said.  u  The  business  is  very  simple 
indeed,  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  we  can  manage  it  suffi- 
ciently well  ourselves ;  but  I  thought  Dupin  would  like  to 
hear  the  details  of  it  because  it  is  so  excessively  odd." 


301 

a  Simple  and  odd/'  said  Dupin. 

"  Why,  yes  ;  and  not  exactly  that,  either.  The  fact  is, 
we  have  all  been  a  good  deal  puzzled  because  the  affair  is 
so  simple  and  yet  baffles  us  altogether." 

"  Perhaps  it  is  the  very  simplicity  of  the  thing  which   5 
puts  you  at  fault,"  said  my  friend. 

-  What  nonsense  you  talk !  "  replied  the  prefect,  laugh- 
ing heartily. 

"  And  what,  after  all,  is  the  matter  on  hand  ?  "  I  asked. 

The  prefect  gave   a  long,  steady,  contemplative  puff  10 
and  settled  himself  in  his  chair. 

"  Before  I  begin,"  said  he,  "  let  me  caution  you  that 
this  is  an  affair  demanding  the  greatest  secrecy.  I  have  re- 
ceived personal  information  from  a  very  high  quarter  that 
a  certain  document  of  importance  has  been  purloined  from  15 
the  royal  apartments.  The  individual  who  purloined  it 
is  known  beyond  a  doubt ;  in  fact,  he  was  seen  to  take  it. 
It  is  known  also  that  it  still  remains  in  his  possession." 

"  How  is  this  known  ?  "  asked  Dupin. 

"  It  is  clearly  inferred,"  replied  the  prefect,  "  from  the  20 
nature  of  the  document.    The  holder  of  it  has  great  power 
over  a  certain  illustrious  personage." 

"  But,"  said  I,  "  this  power  depends  upon  the  robber's 
knowledge  of  the  loser's  knowledge  of  the  robber.  Who 
would  dare  —  "  25 

u.  The  thief,"  said  the  prefect,  "  is  the  Minister  D , 

who  dares  all  things.   The  method  of  the  theft  was  not 


302 

less  ingenious  than  bold.  The  letter  lay  upon  the  table  of 

the  royal  apartment,  when  the  Minister  D entered.  His 

lynx  eye  perceives  the  paper,  recognizes  the  handwriting 
of  the  address,  and  observes  the  confusion  of  the   royal 
5  personage. 

"  After  some  business  transactions  he  produces  a  letter 
somewhat  similar  to  the  one  in  question,  opens  it,  pretends 
to  read  it,  and  then  places  it  in  close  juxtaposition  to  the 
other.    In  taking  leave  he  takes  also  from  the  table  the 

10  letter  to  which  he  had  no  claim.    In  the  presence  of  a 

certain  third  personage  the  rightful  owner  dared  not  call 

attention  to  the  act.    The  minister  departed,  leaving  his 

own  letter  —  one  of  no  importance  —  upon  the  table." 

"Here  then,"  said  Dupin  to  me,  " you  have  precisely 

15  what  you  demand  to  make  the  ascendancy  complete  — 
the  robber's  knowledge  of  the  loser's  knowledge  of  the 
robber." 

"  Yes, "  said  the  prefect,  "  and  the  power  thus  attained 
has  for  some  months  past  been  wielded  for  political  pur- 

20  poses  to  a  very  dangerous  extent." 

"  It  is  clear, "  said  I,  "  that  the  letter  is  still  in  the  pos- 
session of  the  minister,  since  it  is  this  possession  and  not 
any  employment  of  the  letter  which  bestows  the  power. 
With  the  employment  the  power  departs." 

25  "  True,"  said  the  prefect,  u  and  upon  this  conviction  I 
proceeded.  My  first  care  was  to  make  thorough  search  of 
the  minister's  hotel ;  and  here  my  chief  embarrassment 


303 

lay  in  the  necessity  of  searching  without  his  knowledge. 
Beyond  all  things  I  have  been  warned  of  the  danger  which 
would  result  from  giving  him  reason  to  suspect  our  design." 

"  But,"  said  I,  "  the  Parisian  police  have  done  this  thing 
often  before."  5 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  and  for  this  reason  I  did  not  despair.  The 
habits  of  the  minister  gave  me,  too,  a  great  advantage. 
He  is  frequently  absent  from  home  all  night.  His  servants 
are  by  no  means  numerous,  and  they  sleep  at  a  distance 
from  their  masters  apartment.  I  have  keys,  as  you  know,  10 
with  which  I  can  open  any  chamber  or  cabinet  in  Paris. 
For  three  months  a  night  has  not  passed  during  the 
greater  part  of  which  I  have  not  been  engaged,  personally, 
in  ransacking  his  rooms.  My  honor  is  interested,  and,  to 
mention  a  great  secret,  the  reward  is  enormous.  So  I  did  15 
not  abandon  the  search  until  I  had  become  fully  satisfied 
that  the  thief  is  a  more  astute  man  than  myself.  I  fancy 
that  I  have  investigated  every  nook  and  corner  of  the 
premises  in  which  it  is  possible  that  the  paper  can  be 
concealed."  20 

"  But  is  it  not  possible,"  I  suggested,  "  that  he  may 
have  concealed  it  upon  his  own  person  ? " 

"  He  has  been  twice  waylaid,  as  if  by  footpads,"  said 
the  prefect,  "  and  his  person  has  been  rigorously  searched 
under  my  own  inspection."  25 

"  Suppose  you  detail,"  said  I,  "  the  particulars  of  your 
search  in  his  apartments." 


304 

"  Why,  the  fact  is,  we  took  our  time,  and  we  searched 
everywhere.  I  have  had  long  experience  in  these  affairs. 
I  took  the  entire  building,  room  by  room,  devoting  the 
nights  of  a  whole  week  to  each.  We  examined,  first,  the 
5  furniture  of  each  apartment.  We  opened  every  possible 
drawer;  and  I  presume  you  know  that  to  a  properly 
trained  police  agent  such  a  thing  as  a  secret  drawer  is 
impossible.  There  is  a  certain  amount  of  bulk,  of  space, 
to  be  accounted  for  in  every  cabinet.  Then  we  have 
10  accurate  rules.  The  fiftieth  part  of  a  line  could  not  escape 
us.  After  the  cabinets  we  took  the  chairs.  The  cushions 
we  probed  with  the  fine  long  needles  you  have  seen  me 
employ.    From  the  tables  we  removed  the  tops." 

"  Why  so  ?  " 
15  "  Sometimes  the  top  of  a  table,  or  other  similarly 
arranged  piece  of  furniture,  is  removed  by  the  person 
wishing  to  conceal  an  article ;  then  the  leg  is  excavated, 
the  article  deposited  within  the  cavity,  and  i?he  top  re- 
placed. The  bottoms  and  tops  of  bedposts  are  employed 
20  in  the  same  way." 

u  But  could  not  the  cavity  be  detected  by  sounding  ?  " 
I  asked. 

"  By  no  means,  if,  when  the  article  is  deposited,  a  suffi- 
cient wadding  of  cotton  be  placed  around  it.    Besides,  in 
25  our  case  we  were  obliged  to  proceed  without  noise." 

"  But  you  could  not  have  removed  —  you  could  not  have 
taken  to  pieces  all  articles  of  furniture  in  which  it  would 


305 

have  been  possible  to  make  a  deposit  in  the  manner  you 
mention.  A  letter  may  be  compressed  into  a  thin  spiral 
roll,  not  differing  much  in  shape  or  bulk  from  a  large 
knitting  needle,  and  in  this  form  it  might  be  inserted  into 
the  rung  of  a  chair,  for  example.  You  did  not  take  to  5 
pieces  all  the  chairs  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not ;  but  we  did  better  —  we  examined  the 
rungs  of  every  chair  in  the  hotel,  and,  indeed,  the  joint- 
ings of  every  description  of  furniture,  by  the  aid  of  a 
most  powerful  microscope.  Had  there  been  any  traces  of  10 
recent  disturbance,  we  should  not  have  failed  to  detect 
it  instantly.  A  single  grain  of  gimlet  dust,  for  example, 
would  have  been  as  obvious  as  an  apple.  Any  disorder  in 
the  gluing  —  any  unusual  gaping  in  the  joints  —  would 
have  sufficed  to  insure  detection."  15 

"  I  presume  you  looked  to  the  mirrors,  between  the 
boards  and  the  plates,  and  you  probed  the  beds  and  the 
bedclothes,  as  well  as  the  curtains  and  carpets." 

"  That  of  course  ;  and  when  we  had  absolutely  com- 
pleted every  particle  of  the  furniture  in  this  way,  then  we  20 
examined  the  house  itself.  We  divided  its  entire  surface 
into  compartments,  which  we  numbered,  so  that  none 
might  be  missed ;  then  we  scrutinized  each  individual 
square  inch  throughout  the  premises,  including  the  two 
houses  adjoining,  with  the  microscope,  as  before."  25 

"  The  two  houses  adjoining  ?  "  I  exclaimed  ;  u  you  must 
have  had  a  great  deal  of  trouble." 


306 

"  We  had ;  but  the  reward  offered  is  prodigious." 

"  You  include  the  grounds  about  the  houses  ?  " 

"  All  the  grounds  are  paved  with  brick.    They  gave  us 
comparatively  little  trouble.    We  examined  the  moss  be- 
5  tween  the  bricks  and  found  it  undisturbed." 

"  You  looked  among  his  papers,  of  course,  and  into  the 
books  of  the  library  ?  " 

"  Certainly  ;  we  opened  every  package  and  parcel ;  we 
not  only  opened  every  book,  but  we  turned  over  every  leaf 
10  in  each  volume,  not  contenting  ourselves  with  a  mere 
shake,  according  to  the  fashion  of  some  of  our  police 
officers.  We  also  measured  the  thickness  of  every  book 
cover,  and  applied  to  each  the  most  jealous  scrutiny  of 
the  microscope.  Had  any  of  the  bindings  been  recently 
15  meddled  with,  it  would  have  been  utterly  impossible  that 
the  fact  should  have  escaped  observation.  Some  five  or 
six  volumes,  just  from  the  hands  of  the  binder,  we  care- 
fully probed,  longitudinally,  with  the  needles." 

"  You  explored  the  floors  beneath  the  carpets  ?  " 
20      "  Beyond  doubt.    We  removed  every  carpet  and  exam- 
ined the  boards  with  the  microscope." 

"  And  the  paper  on  the  walls  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  You  looked  into  the  cellars  ?  " 
25      "  We  did." 

"  Then,"  I  said,  "  you  have  been  making  a  miscalcula- 
tion, and  the  letter  is  not  upon  the  premises." 


307 

"  I  fear  you  are  right  there,"  said  the  prefect.  "  And 
now,  Dupin,  what  should  you  advise  me  to  do  ?  " 

"  To  make  a  thorough  re-search  of  the  premises." 

"  That  is  absolutely  needless,"  was  the  reply.    "  I  am 
not  more  sure  that  I  breathe  than  I  am  that  the  letter   5 
is  not  at  the  hotel." 

"  I  have  no  better  advice  to  give  you,"  said  Dupin. 
"You  have, of  course,  an  accurate  description  of  the  letter?" 

"  Oh,  yes !  "  And  here  the  prefect,  producing  a  mem- 
orandum book,  proceeded  to  read  aloud  a  minute  account  10 
of  the  missing  document.    Soon  afterwards  he  took  his 
departure,  more  entirely  depressed  in  spirits  than  I  had 
ever  known  the  gentleman  before. 

THE  PURLOINED  LETTER  — II 

About  a  month  later  the  prefect  paid  us  another  visit 
and  found  us  occupied  very  nearly  as  before.    He  took  a  15 
chair  and  entered  into  some  ordinary  conversation.    At 
length  I  said,  "Well,  what  of  the  purloined  letter?" 

"  I  made  the  reexamination,"  said  the  prefect,  "  as 
Dupin  suggested,  but  it  was  all  labor  lost,  as  I  knew  it 
would  be."  20 

"How  much  was  the  reward  offered,  did  you  say?" 
asked  Dupin. 

"Why,  a  very  great  deal  —  a  very  liberal  reward  —  I 
don't  like  to  say  how  much,  precisely ;  but  one  thing  I 
wM   say,    that  I  would  n't   mind  giving  my   individual  25 


308 

check  for  fifty  thousand  francs  to  any  one   who   could 
obtain  me  that  letter." 

"  In  that  case,"  replied  Dupin,  opening  a  drawer,  and 
producing  a  check  book,  "  you  may  as  well  fill  me  up  a 
5  check  for  the  amount  mentioned.    When  you  have  signed 
it,  I  will  hand  you  the  letter." 

I  was  astounded.  The  prefect  appeared  absolutely 
thunderstricken.  For  some  minutes  he  remained  speech- 
less and  motionless,  looking  incredulously  at  my  friend 

10  with  open  mouth,  and  eyes  that  seemed  starting  from 
their  sockets  ;  then,  apparently  recovering  himself  in  some 
measure,  he  seized  a  pen  and  after  several  pauses  and 
vacant  stares  finally  filled  up  and  signed  a  check  for  fifty 
thousand  francs  and  handed  it  across  the  table  to  Dupin. 

15  The  latter  examined  it  carefully  and  deposited  it  in  his 
pocketbook,  then,  unlocking  a  desk,  took  thence  a  letter 
and  gave  it  .to  the  prefect.  This  functionary  grasped  it  in 
a  perfect  agony  of  joy,  opened  it  with  a  trembling  hand, 
cast  a  rapid  glance  at  its  contents,  and  then,  scrambling 

20  and  struggling  to  the  door,  rushed  at  length  unceremoni- 
ously from  the  room  and  from  the  house,  without  having 
uttered  a  syllable  since  Dupin  had  requested  him  to  fill 
up  the  check. 

When  he  had  gone  my  friend  entered  into  some  expla- 

25  nations. 

"The  Parisian  police,"  he  said,  "  are  exceedingly  able  in 
their  way.    They  are  persevering,  ingenious,  cunning,  and 


309 

thoroughly  versed  in  the  knowledge  which  their  duties 
seem  chiefly  to  demand.  Had  the  letter  been  deposited 
within  the  range  of  their  search,  these  fellows  would, 
beyond  question,  have  found  it." 

I  merely  laughed,  but  he  seemed  quite  serious  in  all    5 
that  he  said. 

"The  measures,  then,"  he  continued,  "were  good  of 
their  kind,  and  well  executed ;  their  defect  lay  in  their 
being  inapplicable  to  the  case  and  to  the  man.  Do  you 
not  see  that  the  prefect  has  taken  it  for  granted  that  all  10 
men  proceed  to  conceal  a  letter  —  not  exactly  in  a  gimlet 
hole  bored  in  a  chair  leg,  but  at  least  in  some  out-of-the- 
way  hole  or  corner?  And  do  you  not  see  also  that  such 
a  method  of  concealment  is  adapted  only  for  ordinary 
occasions  and  would  be  adopted  only  by  ordinary  intel-  15 
lects  ?  You  will  now  understand, what  I  meant  in  suggest- 
ing that  had  the  purloined  letter  been  hidden  anywhere 
within  the  limits  of  the  prefect's  examination,  its  discov- 
ery would  have  been  a  matter  altogether  beyond  question. 

"  I  mean  to  say, "  continued  Dupin,  "  that  I  knew  the  20 
minister,  and  my  measures  were  adapted  to  his  capacity, 
with  reference  to  the  circumstances  by  which  he  was  sur- 
rounded. Such  a  man,  I  considered,  could  not  fail  to  be. 
aware  of  the  ordinary  policial  modes  of  action.  He  could 
not  have  failed  to  anticipate  —  and  events  have  proved  25 
that  he  did  not  fail  to  anticipate  —  the  waylayings  to 
which   he   was   subjected.    He   must''  have  foreseen   the 


310 

secret  investigations  of  his  premises.  His  frequent  ab- 
sences from  home  at  night,  which  were  hailed  by  the 
prefect  as  certain  aids  to  his  success,  I  regarded  only 
as  ruses,  to  afford  opportunity  for  thorough  search  to 
5  the  police,  and  thus  the  sooner  to  impress  them  with  the 
conviction  that  the  letter  was  not  upon  the  premises.  He 
could  not,  I  reflected,  be  so  weak  as  not  to  see  that  the 
most  intricate  and  remote  recess  of  his  hotel  would  be  as 
open  as  his  commonest  closets  to  the  eyes,  to  the  probes, 

10  to  the  gimlets,  and  to  the  microscopes  of  the  prefect.  I 
saw,  in  fine,  that  he  would  be  driven,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
to  simplicity,  if  not  deliberately  induced  to  it  as  a  matter 
of  choice.  You  will  remember,  perhaps,  how  desperately 
the  prefect  laughed  when  I  suggested,  upon  our  first  in- 

15  terview,  that  it  was  just  possible  this  mystery  troubled 

him  so  much  on  account  of  its  being  so  very  self-evident." 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  I  remember  his  merriment  well." 

"  There  is  a  game  of  puzzles,"  Dupin  resumed,  "  which 

is  played  upon  a  map.    One  party  playing  requires  another 

20  to  find  a  given  word,  the  name  of  town,  river,  state,  or 
empire,  any  word,  in  short,  upon  the  motley  and  per- 
plexed surface  of  the  chart.  A  novice  in  the  game  gener- 
ally seeks  to  embarrass  his  opponents  by  giving  them  the 
most  minutely  lettered  names,  but  the  adept  selects  such 

25  words  as  stretch,  in  large  characters,  from  one  end  of  the 
chart  to  the  other.  These,  like  the  overlargely  lettered 
signs  and  placards  of  the  street,  escape  observation  by 


311 

dint  of  being  excessively  obvious.  But  this  is  a  point,  it 
appears,  somewhat  above  or  beneath  the  understanding 
of  the  prefect.  He  never  once  thought  it  probable,  or 
possible,  that  the  minister  had  deposited  the  letter  imme- 
diately beneath  the  nose  of  the  whole  world  by  way  of  best  5 
preventing  any  portion  of  that  world  from  perceiving  it. 

"  But  the  more  I  reflected  upon  the  ingenuity  of  D , 

upon  the  fact  that  the  document  must  always  have  been 
at  hand  if  he  intended  to  use  it  to  good  purpose,  and 
upon  the  decisive  evidence,  obtained  by  the  prefect,  that  10 
it  was  not  hidden  within  the  limits  of  that  dignitary's 
ordinary  search,  the  more  satisfied  I  became  that  to 
conceal  this  letter,  the  minister  had  resorted  to  the  expe- 
dient of  not  attempting  to  conceal  it  at  all. 

"  Full  of  these  ideas,  I  prepared  myself  with  a  pair  of  15 
green  spectacles'  and  called  one  fine    morning,  quite  by 

accident,  at  the  ministerial  hotel.    I  found  D at  home, 

yawning,  lounging,  and  dawdling,  as  usual.  He  is  per- 
haps the  most  really  energetic  human  being  now  alive ; 
but  that  is  only  when  nobody  sees  him.  20 

"  To  be  even  with  him,  I  complained  of  my  weak  eyes, 
and  lamented  the  necessity  of  the  spectacles,  under  cover 
of  which  I  cautiously  and  thoroughly  surveyed  the  whole 
apartment,  while  seemingly  intent  only  upon  the  conver- 
sation of  my  host.  25 

*  I  paid  especial  attention  to  a  large  writing  table  near 
which  he  sat,  and  upon  which  lay  confusedly  some  letters 


312 

and  other  papers,  with  one  or  two  musical  instruments 
and  a  few  books.  Here,  however,  after  a  long  and  very 
deliberate  scrutiny,  I  saw  nothing  to  excite  suspicion. 
"  At  length  my  eyes  in  going  the  circuit  of  the  room 
5  fell  upon  a  trumpery  filigree  card  rack  of  pasteboard  that 
hung  dangling  by  a  dirty  blue  ribbon  from  a  little  brass 

•  knob  just  beneath  the  middle  of  the  mantelpiece.  In  this 
rack,  which  had  three  or  four  compartments,  were  five  or 
six  visiting  cards  and  a  solitary  letter.     This   last  was 

10  much  soiled  and  crumpled.  It  was  torn  nearly  in  two 
across  the  middle,  as  if  a  design  in  the  first  instance  to 
tear  it  entirely  up  as  worthless  had  been  altered  or  stayed 

in  the  second.   It  had  a  large  black  seal,  bearing  the  D 

cipher  very  conspicuously,  and  was  addressed,  in  a  diminu- 

15  tive  female  hand,  to  D ,  the  minister,  himself.    It  was 

thrust  carelessly  and  even,  as  it  seemed,  contemptuously 
into  one  of  the  uppermost  divisions  of  the  rack. 

"  No  sooner  had  I  glanced  at  this  letter  than  I  concluded 
it  to  be  that  of  which  I  was  in  search.    To  be  sure,  it  was 

20  to  all  appearance  radically  different  from  the  one  of  which 
the  prefect  had  read  us  so  minute  a  description.    Here  the 

seal  was  large  and  black,  with  the  D cipher ;  there  it 

was  small  and  red,  with  the  ducal  arms  of  the  S 

family.     Here  the  address,  to  the  minister,  was  diminu- 

25  tive  and  feminine ;  there  the  superscription,  to  a  certain 
royal  personage,  was  markedly  bold  and  decided ;  the  size 
alone  formed  a  point  of   correspondence.    But  then,  the 


313 

radicalness  of  these  differences,  which  was  excessive,  the 
dirt,  the  soiled  and  torn  condition  of  the  paper,  so  incon- 
sistent with  the  methodical  habits  of  D :  these  things 

were  strongly  corroborative  of  suspicion  in  one  who  came 
to  suspect.  5 

u  I  protracted  my  visit  as  long  as  possible,  and  while  I 
maintained  a  most  animated  discussion  with  the  minister 
upon  a  topic  which  I  knew  well  had  never  failed  to  inter- 
est and  excite  him,  I  kept  my  attention  riveted  upon  the 
letter.  At  length  I  bade  the  minister  good  morning  and  10 
took  my  departure,  leaving  a  gold  snuffbox  upon  the  table. 

"  The  next  morning  I  called  for  the  snuffbox,  when  we 
resumed  quite  eagerly  the  conversation  of  the  preceding 
day.    While  thus  engaged,  however,  a  loud  report  as  if  of 
a  pistol  was  heard  immediately  beneath  the  windows  of  16 
the  hotel,  and  was  succeeded  by  a  series  of  fearful  screams 

and  the  shoutings  of  a  terrified  mob.    D rushed  to  a 

casement,  threw  it  open,  and  looked  out.    In  the  mean- 
time I  stepped  to  the  card  rack,  took  the  letter,  put  it 
in  my  pocket,  and  replaced  it  by  a  similar  one  (so  far  as  20 
regards  externals),  which  I  had  carefully  prepared  at  my 

lodgings,  imitating  the  D cipher  very  readily  by  means 

of  a  seal  formed  of  bread. 

u  The  disturbance  in  the  street  had  been  occasioned  by 
the  frantic  behavior  of  a  man  with  a  musket.    He  had  25 
fired  it  among  a  crowd  of  women  and  children,  but  as  it 
proved  to  have  been  without  ball,  the  fellow  was  suffered 


314 

to  go  his  way  as  a  lunatic  or  a  drunkard.    When  he  had 

gone  D came  from  the  window,  whither  I  had  followed 

him  immediately  upon  securing  the  object  in  view.    Soon 
afterwards  I  bade  him  farewell.    The  pretended  lunatic 
5  was  a  man  in  my  own  pay." 

"  But  what  purpose  had  you,"  I  asked,  "  in  replacing 
the  letter  ?  Would  it  not  have  been  better  at  the  first  visit 
to  have  seized  it  openly  and  departed  ?  " 

"The  minister,"   replied  Dupin,  "  is  a  desperate  man 

10  and  a  man  of  nerve.  His  hotel,  too,  is  not  without  attend- 
ants devoted  to  his  interests.  Had  I  made  the  wild  attempt 
you  suggest,  I  might  never  have  left  his  presence  alive. 
The  good  people  of  Paris  might  have  heard  of  me  no  more. 
But  I  had  an  object  apart  from  these  considerations.    You 

15  know  my  political  prepossessions.  Being  unaware  that 
the  letter  is  not  in  his  possession,  the  minister  will  pro- 
ceed with  his  exactions  as  if  it  was.  Thus  will  he  inevi- 
tably commit  himself  at  once  to  his  political  destruction. 
His  downfall,  too,  will  not  be  more  precipitate  than  awk- 

20  ward.  In  the  present  instance  I  have  no  sympathy,  at 
least  no  pity.  He  is  an  unprincipled  man  of  genius.  I 
confess,  however,  that  I  should  like  very  well  to  know 
the  precise  character  of  his  thoughts  when  he  is  reduced  to 
opening  the  letter  which  I  left  for  him  in  the  card  rack." 

Dupin  (dupax). — minister:  a  government  official.  —  juxtaposition: 
nearness.  —  hotel:  in  French  usage,  a  large  mansion.  — franc:  a  coin 
worth  about  twenty  cents.  —  prepossessions  :  inclinations. 


315 
TO  HELEN 

Edgar  Allan  Poe 

Note.  This  poem  was  written  by  Poe,  when  he  was  a  lonely  boy  of 
fourteen,  to  the  mother  of  one  of  his  schoolmates. 

Helen,  thy  beauty  is  to  me 

Like  those  Nicsean  barks  of  yore, 
That  gently,  o'er  a  perfumed  sea,  5 

The  weary,  wayworn  wanderer  bore 

To  his  own  native  shore. 

On  desperate  seas  long  wont  to  roam, 
Thy  hyacinth  hair,  thy  classic  face, 

Thy  Naiad  airs  have  brought  me  home  10 

To  the  glory  that  was  Greece 

And  the  grandeur  that  was  Rome. 

Lo  !  in  yon  brilliant  window  niche 

How  statue-like  I  see  ihee  stand, 

The  agate  lamp  within  thy  hand  !  15 

Ah,  Psyche,  from  the  regions  which 

Are  Holy  Land ! 

Nicae'an :  this  reference  is  not  clear.  If  the  "weary  wanderer"  is 
Ulysses,  the  barks  which  bore  him -homeward  should  have  been  Phceacian, 
to  agree  with  Homer's  story.  —  hyacinth  :  curling  ;  suggesting  a  hyacinth. 
—  Naiad :  a  graceful  water  nymph.  —  Psyche  (si'ke)  :  a  lovely  maiden 
whom  Cupid  wedded.  See  the  story  of  Psyche  (Gayley's  Classic  Myths) 
for  the  allusion  to  the  lamp.    Psyche  is  the  Greek  word  for  "  soul." 


316 
HATTO  THE  HERMIT 

Selma  Lagerlof 

.  Selma  Lagerlof  (la'ger  lef )  is  a  Swedish  novelist  who  is  held  in  high 
esteem  by  literary  critics. 

Hatto  the  Hermit  stood  in  the  desert  and  prayed  to 
God.  The  wind  blew  his  long  hair  and  beard  about  him 
5  as  it  blows  the  grass  and  vines  about  an  old  ruin.  But  he 
did  not  brush  back  the  hair  from  his  eyes,  nor  did  he  fasten 
his  long  beard  with  his  girdle,  for  his  gaunt  arms  were 
upraised  to  heaven.  Since  sunrise  he  had  held  them  out- 
stretched, as  untiring  as  a  tree  holding  out  its  boughs, 

10  and  thus  he  would  remain  until  evening.  Every  day 
would  find  him  in  the  same  place.  It  was  a  great  thing 
for  which  he  was  praying. 

He  was  a  man  who  had  suffered  much  from  the  injus- 
tice and  dishonesty  of  the  world  about  him.     Therefore 

15  had  he  come  into  the  wilderness,  and  made  for  himself 
a  cave  by  the  river  bank,  and  prayed  to  God  to  punish 
mankind  with  flood  and  pestilence  and  death. 

Round  about  him  was  the  wilderness,  bare  and  desolate. 
But  a  little  farther  up  the  bank  stood  an  old  pollard 

20  willow,  from  the  top  of  which. fresh  green  branches  were 
growing.  On  stormy  days  the  flexible  twigs  whipped 
about  the  willow  trunk  as  hair  and  beard  whipped  about 
Hatto  the  Hermit. 


oil 

To-day  a  pair  of  thrushes,  who  usually  built  their  nest 
among  the  new  branches  of  the  willow  tree,  decided  to 
begin  their  work.  But  the  wild  whipping  of  the  twigs 
disturbed  the  birds.  They  flew  back  and  forth  with  their 
bits  of  dry  grass,  but  nothing  was  accomplished.  Then  5 
they  spied  Hatto. 

It  is  hard  to  fancy  how  dried-up  and  gnarled  and  black 
the  old  hermit  had  become.  His  skin  clung  close  to  his 
bones,  his  muscles  gave  no  curves  to  his  body,  his  arm 
was  only  a  couple  of  thin  bones  covered  with  dark,  hard,  10 
wrinkled  skin.  He  wore  an  old  black  coat,  and  only  his 
hair  and  beard  were  of  a  lighter  shade.  They  were  not 
unlike  the  grayish  hue  of  the  under  side  of  willow  leaves. 

The  birds,  flying  about  restlessly,  took  Hatto  the  Her- 
mit to  be  another  old  willow  tree.  They  circled  around  15 
him  many  times,  noted  his  position  in  regard  to  wind  and 
river  and  possible  birds  of  prey,  marked  the  guideposts 
on  the  way  to  him,  and  decided  that  here  should  be  their 
home.  One  of  the  birds  shot  down  suddenly  from  the 
upper  air  and  laid  a  bit  of  grass  in  the  hermit's  open  20 
palm. 

Hatto  did  not  pause  in  his  prayer.  The  storm  roared 
again  and  the  straw  fluttered  out  of  the  hermit's  big, 
bony  hand.  But  the  birds  came  back  and  tried  to  lay  the 
corner  stone  of  their  new  house  between  his  fingers.  Sud-  25 
denly  a  dirty,  clumsy  thumb  laid  itself  over  the  spears  of 
grass  and  held  them  in  place,  while  four  fingers  curled 


318 

over  the  palm,  making  a  cozy  niche  where  a  nest  would 
be  safe.  The  tiny  birds  came  and  went  with  lightning 
dashes,  laying  new  straws  in  the  nest  with  little  chirps  of 
pleasure. 
5  The  old  man  did  not  move.  He  had  made  a  vow  to 
stand  all  day  long  with  outstretched  arms  in  order  to 
force  God  to  listen  to  him.  As  his  body  grew  more  weary 
strange  dreams  and  visions  came  to  him.  He  seemed  to 
hear  the  crash  of  falling  walls,   the   screams   of  terror- 

10  stricken  people,  the  tumult  of  whirlwind  and  earthquake. 
Yet  now  and  then  his  eyes  rested  on  the  little  thrushes. 
Back  and  forth  they  flew  with  bits  of  grass  and  reeds 
from  the  river  bank.  They  could  not  take  time  for  dinner 
or  supper.    When  dusk  came  the  walls  were  nearly  done. 

15  By  this  time  Hatto  had  come  to  watch  the  birds  with 
eager  intentness.  He  followed  their  flight  with  anxious 
eyes  ;  he  scolded  them  when  they  were  careless  or  clumsy ; 
he  grieved  when  the  wind  vexed  them;  and  when  they 
stopped  a  moment  to  rest  he  was  almost  angry  with  them. 

20  Then  the  sun  sank  and  the  birds  went  to  sleep  among 
the  reeds.  As  soon  as  morning  came  they  were  on  the 
wing,  but  though  they  found  their  guideposts  their  nest 
had  disappeared.  They  peered  out  over  the  moors,  they 
flew  high  up  to  gain  a  wider  view.    In  vain;  both  tree 

25  and  nest  had  vanished  in  the  night.  Finally,  they  perched 
on  a  stone  by  the  water  and  thought  the  matter  over. 
Where  were  nest  and  tree  ? 


319 


320 

But  scarcely  were  the  first  shadows  cast  upon  the 
stream  when  their  tree  came  wandering  up  to  the  very 
place  where  it  had  stood  before.  It  was  as  old  and  black 
and  gnarled  as  ever  and  it  held  their  precious  nest  safe  at 

5  the  end  of  a  stiff  bough.    The  birds  accepted  the  miracle 
without  question  and  began  to  build  as  before. 

Hatto  the  Hermit  had  not  returned  to  his  place  on  the 
river  bank  because  of  his  love  for  the  birds.  In  his  heart 
there  was  little  room,  as  yet,  for  tenderness,  but  to  him 

10  their  coming  was  a  sign  from  God  and  he  thought  he  had 
discovered  what  it  might  mean.  God  had  willed  that  he 
was  to  stand  with  outstretched  arm  until  the  birds  had 
reared  their  young.  If  he  could  do  this,  then  God  would 
listen  to  his  prayer. 

15  To-day,  however,  his  dreadful  visions  troubled  him  less 
and  less.  His  eyes  followed  every  movement  of  the  birds. 
How  rapidly  they  wove  the  last  bits  of  straw  into  place ! 
The  tiny  builders  flew  round  the  nest  and  examined  it  care- 
fully.   How  eagerly  they  brought  wisps  of.  moss  from  the 

20  real  willow  and  fastened  them  on  the  outside  as  a  finishing 
decoration!  And  now  one  of  the  birds  was  plucking  soft 
down  from  its  own  breast  to  line  the  new  home. 

The  peasants  of  the  neighborhood,  who  greatly  feared 
the  hermit,  were  wont  to  bring  him  bread  and  milk  to 

25  turn  his  anger  away  from  themselves  and  their  little  ones. 
Now  they  came  and  found  him  motionless,  holding  the 
birds'  nest  in  his  hand. 


321 

"  See  how  the  holy  man  loves  the  little  creatures ! " 
they  said,  and  feared  him  no  longer.  They  raised  the  cup 
of  milk  to  his  lips  and  fed  him  with  the  bread.  When  he 
had  eaten  and  drunk  he  drove  them  away  angrily,  but 
they  smiled  at  his  harshness.  5 

Hatto's  body  had  long  before  this  become  the  servant 
of  his  will.  He  had  taught  it  obedience  by  hunger  and 
torture,  by  days  of  kneeling  and  by  sleepless  nights.  Now 
his  muscles  of  steel  did  his  bidding  and  held  up  his  arm 
for  days  at  a  time.  When  the  mother  bird  had  laid  her  10 
eggs  and  would  not  leave  her  nest,  Hatto  learned  to  sleep 
standing. 

He    soon    grew   accustomed   to  the   two    uneasy  little 
eyes  that  peered  down  at  him  over  the  edge  of  the  nest. 
He  watched  for  rain  and  hail  and  protected  the  nest  as  15 
well  .as  he  could.    And   at    last  a  morning  came  when 
both  thrushes  were  chattering  gleefully  and  looking  very 
happy,  although   the   whole   nest   seemed   filled   with   a 
frightened  squeaking.    After  a  while  they  set  out  upon  a 
gnat  hunt.    One  insect  after  another  fell  before  them  and  20 
was  brought  home  to  whatever  it  was  that  squeaked  and 
peeped  in  the  nest.    The  chirping  grew  louder.    It  even 
disturbed    the    holy  man   at   his    prayers.    Gently,  very    • 
gently,  his  arm  sank  down  and  down  until  he  could  look 
into  the  nest.  25 

Never  had  he  seen  anything  so  ugly.  Six  naked  little 
birds  with  a  few  scattered  down-tufts,  and  six  great  open 


322 

beaks !  He  could  not  understand  it  himself,  but  he  liked 
them  just  as  they  were.  He  did  not  wish  to  think  of  harm 
coming  to  them,  and  in  his  prayers  he  made  a  silent  ex- 
ception in  favor  of  these  little  helpless  creatures. 

5  When  the  peasant  women  brought  him  food  he  was  no 
longer  angry  with  them.  Since  he  was  necessary  for  the 
safety  of  the  little  ones  up  there  in  his  hand,  he  was  glad 
that  the  people  would  not  let  him  starve. 

Soon  six  little  heads  peered  over  the  top  of  the  nest. 

10  Feathers  began  to  grow,  and  the  tiny  bodies  looked  soft 
and  round.  Old  Hatto's  arm  sank  again  and  again  to  the 
level  of  his  eyes  as  he  watched  the  daily  doings  of  the 
birds.  And  meanwhile  prayers  for  the  great  destruction 
of  the  world  came  more  and  more  slowly  from  his  lips. 

15  He  believed  that  God  had  promised  to  answer  his  prayer 
when  the  birds  were  ready  to  fly,  and  the  time  was  draw- 
ing near.  How  could  he  watch  the  sacrifice  of  these  tiny 
lives  which  he  had  guarded  and  cherished !  It  had  been 
different  when  he  had  nothing  to  care  for.    Now  his  love 

20  for  the  little  creatures  made  him  hesitate,  and  he  stood 
there  seeking  some  way  of  escape  for  them. 

Then  came  the  great  day  when  the  young  birds  were 
taught  to  fly.  One  of  the  parents  sat  inside  the  nest,  try- 
ing to  push  them  over  the  edge,  while  the  other  flew  about 

25  to  show  them  how  easy  it  was.  But  the  little  ones  were 
afraid,  and  both  of  the  old  birds  flew  off  together,  showing 
their  prettiest  arts  and  tricks. 


323 

It  was  of  no  use ;  the  babies  would  not  move ;  and  at 
last  Hatto  decided  that  he  must  interfere  in  the  matter 
himself.  With  careful  finger  he  gave  them  each  a  gentle 
push  and  out  they  tumbled,  trembling  and  uncertain  at 
first,  but  soon  learning  the  proper  motion,  while  the  hermit  5 
chuckled  softly  to  himself. 

And  now  he  thought  long  and  deeply  how  he  could  re- 
lease the  great  Ruler  of  the  world  from  the  promise.    Per- 
haps, he  pondered,  God  holds  this  earth  like  a  bird's  nest 
in  his  hand,  loving  all  the  helpless  ones  within  it.    Per-  10 
haps  he  "would  be  glad  not  to  answer  the  prayer. 

The  next  day  the  little  nest  was  empty  and  the  hermit 
stood  there  in  bitter  loneliness.  He  shrank  in  terror  from 
the  thought  of  all  the  evil  for  which  he  had  prayed. 
Suddenly  he  heard  a  happy  chirping  and  the  birds  were  is 
flying  about  his  head  and  shoulders.  They  trusted  him ; 
they  had  no  fear  in  their  hearts.  And  with  their  coming 
a  vivid  memory  returned  to  him.  Every  day  he  had 
lowered  his  arm  to  look  into  the  nest ! 

Then  he  nodded,  smiling,  as  if  to  some  one  whom  he  20 
could  not  see.    "  It  is  well,"  he  said.    "  I  have  failed  to 
keep  my  vow.    Thou  needst  not  keep  thine." 

And  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  whole  world  was  full  of 

peace  and  love. 

From  the  Swedish 

pollard :   a  tree  that  lias  been  cut  off  close  to  the  trunk  so  that  new 
shoots  may  grow  out. 


324 

THE  KEARSARGE 

James  Jeffrey  Eoche 

James  Jeffrey  Roche  (1847-1908),  a  Boston  journalist  of  Irish  birth, 
was  the  author  of  several  poems  of  unusual  quality. 

Note.    Roncador  is  a  coral  reef  in  the  Caribbean  Sea  on  which  many  a 
good  ship  has  been  wrecked. 

5  Iii  the  gloomy  ocean  bed 

Dwelt  a  formless  thing,  and  said, 
In  the  dim  and  countless  seons  long  ago, 

"  I  will  build  a  stronghold  high, 

Ocean's  power  to  defy, 
10  And  the  pride  of  haughty  man  to  lay  low." 

Crept  the  minutes  for  the  sad, 

Sped  the.  cycles  for  the  glad, 
But  the  march  of  time  was  neither  less  nor  more ; 

While  the  formless  atom  died, 
15  Myriad  millions  by  its  side, 

And  above  them  slowly  lifted  Roncador. 

Roncador  of  Caribbee, 
Coral  dragon  of  the  sea, 
Ever  sleeping  with  his  teeth  below  the  wave ; 
20  Woe  to  him  who  breaks  the  sleep  ! 

Woe  to  them  who  sail  the  deep ! 
Woe  to  ship  and  man  that  fear  a  shipman's  grave  ! 


325 


Hither  many  a  galleon  old, 

Heavy-keeled  with  guilty  gold, 
Fled  before  the  hardy  rover  smiting  sore ; 

But  the  sleeper  silent  lay 

Till  the  preyer  and  his  prey 
Brought  their  plunder  and  their  bones  to  Roncador. 

Be  content,  0  conqueror  ! 

Now  our  bravest  ship  of  war, 
War  and  tempest  who  had  often  braved  before, 

All  her  storied  prowess  past, 

Strikes  her  glorious  flag  at  last 
To  the  formless  thing  that  builded  Roncador. 


10 


aeon  (e'on)  :  an  immeasurable  period  of  time.  —  galleon  :  a  Spanish  mer- 
chant vessel,  armed,  and  having  four  decks.  Many  of  the  pirate  ships  were 
galleons.  —  our  bravest  ship  of  war :  the  Kearsarge,  a  famous  vessel  of  the 
United  States  Xavy,  was  lost  on  Roncador  reef  in  1894. 


?£#^*- 


326 
TRAVELING  IN  ENGLAND  IN  1685 

Thomas  Babington  Macaulay 

Thomas  Babington  Macaulay  (1800-1859)  was  an  English  historian 
and  poet,  famous  for  the  brilliancy  and  clearness  of  his  style.  His  Lays  of 
Ancient  Rome  should  be  familiar  in  every  schoolroom. 

Whoever  examines  the  maps  of  London  which  were 

5  published  towards  the  close  of  the  reign  of  Charles  the 
Second  will  see  that  only  the  nucleus  of  the  present  capi- 
tal then  existed.  The  town  did  not,  as  now,  fade  by  imper- 
ceptible degrees  into  the  country.  No  long  avenues  of 
villas  embowered  in  lilacs  and  laburnums  extended  from 

10  the  great  center  of  wealth  and  civilization  almost  to  the 
boundaries  of  Middlesex  and  far  into  the  heart  of  Kent 
and  Surrey.  On  the  south  the  capital  is  now  connected 
with  its  suburb  by  several  bridges,  not  inferior  in  mag- 
nificence and  solidity  to  the  noblest  works  of  the  Caesars. 

15  In  1685  a  single  line  of  irregular  arches,  overhung  by 
piles  of  mean  and  crazy  houses,  impeded  the  navigation 
of  the  river. 

Of  the  metropolis,  the  City,  properly  so  called,  was  the 
most  important  division.    At  the  time  of  the  Restoration 

20  it  had  been  built,  for  the  most  part,  of  wood  and  plaster ; 
the  few  bricks  that  were  used  were  ill  baked  ;  the  booths 
where  goods  were  exposed  to  sale  projected  far  into  the 
streets,  and  were  overhung  by  the  upper  stories.    A  few 


327 

specimens  of  this  architecture  may  still  be  seen  in  those 
districts  which  were  not  reached  by  the  great  fire.  The  fire 
had,  in  a  few  days,  covered  a  space  of  little  less  than  a 
square  mile  with  the  ruins  of  eighty-nine  churches  and  of 
thirteen  thousand  houses.  But  the  City  had  risen  again  with  5 
a  celerity  which  had  excited  the  admiration  of  neigh- 
boring countries.  Unfortunately  the  old  lines  of  the  streets 
had  been  to  a  great  extent  preserved;  and  those  lines, 
originally  traced  in  an  age  when  even  princesses  per- 
formed their  journeys  on  horseback,  were  often  too  nar-  10 
row  to  allow  wheeled  carriages  to  pass  each  other  with 
ease,  and  were  therefore  ill  adapted  for  the  residence  of 
wealthy  persons  in  an  age  when  a  coach  and  six  was  a 
fashionable  luxury. 

The  rich  commonly  traveled   in  their  own   carriages,  15 
with  at  least  four  horses.    A  coach  and  six  is  in  our  time 
never  seen,  except  as  part  of  some  pageant.    The  frequent 
mention  therefore  of  such  equipages  in  old  books  is  likely 
to  mislead  us.    We  attribute  to  magnificence  what  was 
really  the  effect  of  a  very  disagreeable  necessity.    People  20 
in  the  time  of  Charles  the  Second  traveled  with  six  horses 
because  with  a  smaller  number  there  was  a  great  danger 
of  sticking  fast  in  the  mire.    Nor  were  even  six  horses 
always  sufficient.  Vanbrugh,  in  the  succeeding  generation, 
described  with  great  humor  the  way  in  which  a  country  25 
gentleman,  newly  chosen  a  member  of  Parliament,  went 
up  to  London.    On  that  occasion  all  the  exertions  of  six 


328 

beasts,  two  of  which  had  been  taken  from  the  plow, 
could  not  save  the  family  coach  from  being  embedded  in 
a  quagmire. 

Public  carriages  had  recently  been  much  improved.  Dur- 
5  ing  the  years  which  immediately  followed  the  Restoration, 
a  diligence  ran  between  London  and  Oxford  in  two  days. 
At  length,  in  the  spring  of  1669,  a  great  and  daring  inno- 
vation was  attempted.  It  was  announced  that  a  vehicle, 
described  as  the  Flying  Coach,  would  perform  the  whole 

10  journey  between  sunrise  and  sunset.  This  spirited  under- 
taking was  solemnly  considered  and  sanctioned  by  the 
heads  of  the  university,  and  appears  to  have  excited  the 
same  sort  of  interest  which  is  excited  in  our  own  time  by 
the  opening  of  a  new  railway.    The  vice  chancellor,  by  a 

15  notice  affixed  in  all  public  places,  prescribed  the  hour  and 
place  of  departure.  The  success  of  the  experiment  was 
complete.  At  six  in  the  morning  the  carriage  began  to 
move  from  before  the  ancient  front  of  All  Souls  College, 
and  at  seven  in  the  evening  the  adventurous  gentlemen 

20  who  had  run  the  first  risk  were  safely  deposited  at  their 
inn  in  London.  The  emulation  of  the  sister  university 
was  moved,  and  soon  a  diligence  was  set  up  which  in  one 
day  carried  passengers  from  Cambridge  to  the  capital.  At 
the  close  of  the  reign  of  Charles  the  Second,  flying  car- 

25  riages  ran  thrice  a  week  from  London  to  the  chief  towns. 
But  no  stagecoach,  indeed  no  stage  wagon,  appears  to 
have  proceeded  further  north  than  York,  or  further  west 


329 

than  Exeter.  The  ordinary  day's  journey  in  a  flying  coach 
was  about  fifty  miles  in  the  summer,  but  in  winter,  when 
the  ways  were  bad  and  the  nights  long,  little  more  than 
thirty.  The  Chester  coach,  the  York  coach,  and  the  Exeter 
coach  generally  reached  London  in  four  days  during  the  5 
fine  season,  but  at  Christmas  not  till  the  sixth  day.  The 
passengers,  six  in  number,  were  all  seated  in  the  carriage, 
for  accidents  were  so  frequent  that  it  would  have  been 
most  perilous  to  mount  the  roof.  The  ordinary  fare  was 
about  twopence  halfpenny  a  mile  in  summer  and  some-  10 
what  more  in  winter. 

This  mode  of  traveling,  which  by  Englishmen  of  the 
present  day  would  be  regarded  as  insufferably  slow,  seemed 
to  our  ancestors  wonderfully  and  indeed  alarmingly  rapid. 
In  a  work  published  a  few  months  before  the  death  of  15 
Charles  the  Second,  the  flying  coaches  are  extolled  as  far 
superior  to  any  similar  vehicles  ever  known  in  the  world. 

From  History  of  England. 

the  City :  that  part  of  London  comprised  in  the  ancient  city  and  origi- 
nally surrounded  by  a  wall.  It  is  still  spoken  of  as  the  City,  to  distinguish 
it  from  Westminster  and  other  districts  now  included  under  the  name  of 
London.  — the  Restoration  :  this  return  to  a  monarchy  took  place  in  1660, 
when  Charles  II  was  restored  to  his  throne. — the  great  fire:  the  Great 
Fire  of  London  occurred  in  1666.  —  Vanbrugh  (van  broo')  :  an  English 
dramatist  of  the  early  part  of  the  eighteenth  century.  —  diligence  :  a  public 
stagecoach.  —  Oxford  and  Cambridge  :  the  two  great  university  towns  of 
England.  —  twopence  halfpenny  (tup  6ns  ha'  pSn  l)  :  a  sum  equal  to  five 
cents  of  our  money. 


330 


-  -^        ^ 

"     *^^^^WI 

FROM  WESTMINSTER  BRIDGE 


William  Wordsworth 


10 


Earth  has  not  anything  to  show  more  fair : 

Dull  would  he  be  of  souj  who  could  pass  by 

A  sight  so  touching  in  its  majesty : 

This  City  now  doth,  like  a  garment,  wear 

The  beauty  of  the  morning  ;  silent,  bare, 

Ships,  towers,  domes,  theaters,  and  temples  lie 

Open  unto  the  fields,  and  to  the  sky; 

All  bright  and  glittering  in  the  smokeless  air. 

Never  did  sun  more  beautifully  steep 

In  his  first  splendor,  valley,  rock,  or  hill ; 

Ne'er  saw  I,  never  felt,  a  calm  so  deep ! 

The  river  glideth  at  his  own  sweet  will : 

Dear  God  !    the  very  houses  seem  asleep ; 

And  all  that  mighty  heart  is  lying  still ! 


331 
LONDON 

William  Wordsworth 

Note.  The  preceding  sonnet  was  written,  says  Wordsworth,  "on  the 
roof  of  a  coach,  on  my  way  to  France."  On  the  poet's  return  he  spent  a 
few  weeks  in  London,  during  which  time  he  wrote  the  following  lines, 
addressing  them  to  Coleridge,  his  friend  and  fellow  poet.  "  I  could  not 
but  be  struck/'  he  explains  in  his  notes,  "  with  the  vanity  and  parade  of  5 
our  own  country  ...  as  contrasted  with  the  quiet,  and  I  may  say  the  des- 
olation, that  the  revolution  had  produced  in  France." 

More  than  one  writer,  from  Ben  Jonson  to  Tennyson,  has  expressed  sim- 
ilar dissatisfaction  with  the  age  in  which  he  lived.  Each  generation  looks 
back  to  the  "  good  old  times."  10 

0  Friend !    I  know  not  which  way  I  must  look 

For  comfort,  being,  as  I  am,  oppressed, 

To  think  that  now  our  life  is  only  dressed 

For  show  ;  mean  handy-work  of  craftsman,  cook, 

Or  groom  !  —  We  must  run  glittering  like  a  brook       15 

In  the  open  sunshine,  or  we  are  unblessed : 

The  wealthiest  man  among  us  is  the  best : 

No  grandeur  now  in  nature  or  in  book 

Delights  us.    Rapine,  avarice,  expense, 

This  is  idolatry ;  and  these  we  adore  :  20 

Plain  living  and  high  thinking  are  no  more : 

The  homely  beauty  of  the  good  old  cause 

Is  gone ;  our  peace,  our  fearful  innocence, 

And  pure  religion  breathing  household  laws. 

mean:  insignificant.  —  fearful:  shrinking,  timid. 


332 
SELLING  HIS  ANCESTORS 

IvICHARD    BrINSLEY    SHERIDAN 

Richard  Brinsley  Sheridan  (1751-1816)  was  born  in  Dublin.  He 
was  educated  in  England,  and  after  a  romantic  marriage  settled  in  London 
where  he  became  a  writer  of  plays  and  an  eloquent  member  of  Parliament. 
The  later  years  of  his  life  were  years  of  disappointment  and  failure. 

5  Note.  The  School  for  Scandal  is  an  amusing  comedy  from  which  the 
following  scene  is  taken.  Charles  Surface,  an  amiable  but  extravagant 
young  man,  decides  to  sell  his  family  portraits.  The  purchaser,  under  the 
name  of  Mr.  Premium,  is  Charles's  uncle  in  disguise.  He  has  recently 
returned  from  India. 

Scene  I.    A  Picture  Room  in  Charles  Surface's  House 

Enter  Charles  Surface,  Mr.  Premium  (Sir  Oliver  Surface),  Moses, 
the  broker,  and  Careless,  who  is  to  be  auctioneer 

io       Charles.    Walk  in,  gentlemen,  pray  walk  in  ;  here  they 
are,  the  family  of  the  Surfaces,  up  to  the  Conquest. 
Sir  Oliver.    And,  in  my  opinion,  a  goodly  collection. 
Charles.  Ay,  ay,  these  are  done  in  the  true  spirit  of 
portrait  painting.     Not  like  the  work   of  your  modern 
15  Raphaels,  who  give  you  the  strongest  resemblance,  yet 
contrive  to  make  your  portrait  independent  of  you,   so 
that  you  may  sink  the  original  and  not  hurt  the  picture. 
No,  no ;  the  merit  of  these  is  the  inveterate  likeness,  all 
stiff  and  awkward  as  the  originals  and  like  nothing  in 
20  human  nature  besides. 

Sir  Oliver.  Ah,  we  shall  never  see  such  figures  of  men 
again. 


333 

Charles.  I  hope  not.  Well,  you  see,  Master  Premium, 
what  a  domestic  character  I  am ;  here  1  sit  of  an  evening 
surrounded  by  my  family.  But  come,  get  to  your  pulpit, 
Mr.  Auctioneer;  here's  an  old  gouty  chair  of  my  grand- 
fathers will  answer  the  purpose.  5 

Careless.  Ay,  ay,  that  will  do.  But,  Charles,  I  haven't 
a  hammer  ;  and  what's  an  auctioneer  without  his  hammer  ? 

Charles.   That 's  true.    What  parchment  have  we  here  ? 
Oh,  our  genealogy  in  full.    Here,  Careless,  you  shall  have 
no  common  bit  of  mahogany ;  here  's  the  family  tree  for  10 
you,  you  rogue  !   This  shall  be  your  hammer,  and  now  you 
may  knock  down  my  ancestors  with  their  own  pedigree. 

Sir  Oliver.  What  an  unnatural  rogue  ! 

Careless.    Yes,  yes,   here's  a  list  of  your  generation, 
indeed.    Charles,  this  is  the  most  convenient  thing  you  15 
could  have  found  for  the  business,   for  'twill  not  only 
serve  as  a  hammer,  but  a  catalogue  into  the  bargain. 
Come,  begin  !    A-going,  a-going,  a-going ! 

Charles.  Bravo,  Careless  !  Well,  here 's  my  great  uncle, 
Sir  Richard  Ravelin,  a  marvelous  good  general  in  his  day,  20 
I  assure  you.  He  served  in  all  the  Duke  of  Marlborough's 
wars,  and  got  that  cut  over  his  eye  at  the  battle  of  Mal- 
plaquet.  What  say  you,  Mr.  Premium?  Look  at  him; 
there  's  a  hero  !  Not  cut  out  of  his  feathers  as  your  mod- 
ern clipped  captains  are,  but  enveloped  in  wig  and  regi-  25 
mentals  as  a  general  should  be.    What  do  you  bid  ? 

Sir  Oliver  (aside  to  Moses) .  Bid  him  speak. 


334 

Moses.    Mr.  Premium  would  have  you  speak. 

Charles.  Why,  then,  he  shall  have  him  for  ten  pounds, 
and  I  'm  sure  that 's  not  dear  for  a  staff  officer. 

Sir  Oliver  (aside).  Heaven  deliver  me!  his  famous  uncle 
5  Richard  for  ten  pounds !    (Aloud)    Very  well,  sir,  I  take 
him  at  that. 

Charles.  Careless,  knock  down  my  uncle  Richard. 
Here  now  is  a  maiden  sister  of  his,  my  great-aunt  Debo- 
rah, done  by  Kneller  in  his  best  manner  and  esteemed 
10  a  very  formidable  likeness.  There  she  is,  you  see,  a  shep- 
herdess feeding  her  flock.  You  shall  have  her  for  five 
pounds  ten  ;  the  sheep  are  worth  the  money. 

Sir  Oliver  (aside).    Ah  !  poor  Deborah !   a  woman  who 
set  such  a  value  on  herself !     (Aloud)    Five  pounds  ten ; 
15  she  's  mine. 

Charles.  Knock  down  my  aunt  Deborah.  Here,  now, 
are  two  that  were  a  sort  of  cousins  of  theirs.  You  see, 
Moses,  these  pictures  were  done  some  time  ago,  when 
beaux  wore  wigs  and  the  ladies  their  own  hair. 
20  Sir  Oliver.  Yes,  truly,  headdresses  appear  to  have  been 
a  little  lower  in  those  days. 

Charles.  Well,  take  that  couple  for  the  same. 

Moses.  'T  is  a  good  bargain. 

Charles.  Careless  !  —  This,  now,  is  a  grandfather  of  my 
25  mother's,  a  learned  judge.    What  do  you  rate  him  at, 
Moses  ? 

Moses.  Four  guineas. 


335 

Charles.  Four  guineas !  You  don't  bid  me  the  price  of 
his  wig.  Mr.  Premium,  you  have  more  respect  for  the 
woolsack ;  do  let  us  knock  his  lordship  down  at  fifteen. 

Sir  Oliver.  By  all  means. 

Careless.  Gone !  5 

Charles.  And  there  are  two  brothers  of  his,  William  and 
Walter  Blunt,  Esquires,  both  members  of  Parliament  and 
noted  speakers  ;  and,  what 's  very  extraordinary,  I  believe 
this  is  the  first  time  they  were  ever  bought  or  sold. 

Sir  Oliver.  That  is  very  extraordinary  indeed  !  I  '11  take  10 
them  at  your  own  price  for  the  honor  of  Parliament. 

Careless.  Well  said,  little  Premium !  I  '11  knock  them 
down  at  forty. 

Charles.  Here's  a  jolly  fellow,  I  don't  know  what  re- 
lation, but  he  was  mayor  of  Norwich.    Take  him  at  eight  15 
pounds. 

Sir  Oliver.  No,  no ;  six  will  do  for  the  mayor. 

Charles.  Come,  make  it  guineas,  and  I  '11  throw  you  the 
two  aldermen  there  into  the  bargain. 

Sir  Oliver.  They  're  mine.  20 

Charles.  Careless,  knock  down  the  mayor  and  aldermen. 
But,  plague  on't,  we  shall  be  all  day  retailing  in  this 
manner;  do  let  us  deal  wholesale.  What  say  you,  little 
Premium  ?  Give  me  three  hundred  pounds  for  the  rest  of 
the  family  in  the  lump.  25 

Careless.  Ay,  ay,  that  will  be  the  best  way. 

Sir  Oliver.   Well,  well,  anything  to  accommodate  you ; 


336 

they  are  mine.    But  there  is  one  portrait  which  you  have 
always  passed  over. 

Careless.   What,  that  ill-looking  little  fellow  over  the 
settee  ? 
5      Sir  Oliver.  Yes,  sir,  I  mean  that ;  though  I  don't  think 
him  so  ill-looking  a  little  fellow,  by  any  means. 

Charles.  What,  that?  Oh;  that's  my  uncle  Oliver! 
'T  was  done  before  he  went  to  India. 

Careless.    Your  uncle   Oliver !     Then  you  '11   never  be 
10  friends,  Charles.    That  now,  to  me,  is  as  stern  a  looking 
rogue  as  I  ever  saw  ;  an  unforgiving  eye  and  a  disinherit- 
ing countenance !   an  inveterate  knave,  depend  upon  it. 
Don't  you  think  so,  little  Premium  ? 

Sir  Oliver.  Upon  my  soul,  sir,  I  do  not !    I  think  it  is 
15  as  honest  a  looking  face  as  any  in  the  room,  dead  or 
alive.    But  I  suppose  Uncle  Oliver  goes  with  the  rest  of 
the  lumber  ? 

Charles.    No,  hang  it !    I  '11  not  part  with  poor  Noll. 
The  old  fellow  has  been  very  good  to  me,  and  I  '11  keep 
20  his  picture  while  I  have  a  room  to  put  it  in. 

Sir  Oliver  (aside).  The  rogue 's  my  nephew,  after  all. 
(Aloud)  But,  sir,  I  have  somehow  taken  a  fancy  to  that 
picture. 

Charles.  I  'm  sorry  for  it,  for  you  certainly  will  not 
25  have  it.    Have  n't  you  got  enough  of  them  ? 

Sir  Oliver  (aside).  I  forgive  him  everything !  (Aloud)  But, 
sir,  when  I  take  a  whim  into  my  head  I  don't  value 


337 

money.    I  '11  give  you  as  much  for  that  as  for  all  the  rest. 

diaries.  Don't  tease  me,  master  broker ;  I  tell  you  I  '11 
not  part  with  it,  and  there's  an  end  of  it. 

Sir  Oliver  (aside).    How  like  his  father  he  is !    (Aloud) 
AVell.   well,  I   have  done.    (Aside)    I  did  not  perceive   it    5 
before,  .but  I  think  I  never  saw  such  a  striking  resem- 
blance.   (Aloud)  Here  is  a  draft  for  the  sum. 

Charles.  Why,  't  is  for  eight  hundred  pounds  ! 

Sir  Oliver.  You  will  not  let  Sir  Oliver  go  ? 

Charles.  Zounds  !  no  !    I  tell  you  once  more.  10 

Sir  Oliver.  Then  never  mind  the  difference ;  we  '11  bal- 
ance that  another  time.  But  give  me  your  hand  on  the 
bargain ;  you  are  an  honest  fellow,  Charles ;  I  beg  par- 
don, sir,  for  being  so  free.    Come,  Moses. 

Charles.  This  is  a  whimsical  old  fellow  !    But,  hark'ee,  15 
Premium,  you  '11  prepare  lodgings  for  these  gentlemen. 

Sir  Oliver.  Yes,  yes,  I  '11  send  for  them  in  a  day  or  two.  * 

Charles.  But  hold ;  do  now  send  a  genteel  conveyance 
for  them,  for  I  assure  you  they  were  most  of  them  used 
to  ride  in  their  own  carriages.  20 

Sir  Oliver.  I  will,  I  will  —  for  all  but  Oliver. 

Charles.   Ay.  all  but  the  little  nabob. 
-    Sir  Oliver.   You  're  fixed  on  that  ? 

Charles.  Peremptorily. 

Sir  Oliver  (aside).    A  dear  extravagant  rogue !    (Aloud)  25 
Good  day !    Come,  Moses.    (Aside)  Let  me  hear  now  who 
dares  call  him  profligate. 


338 

Careless.  Why,  this  is  the  oddest  genius  of  the  sort  I 
ever  met  with. 

Charles.  He  is  the  prince  of  brokers,  I  think.  I  won- 
der how  Moses  got  acquainted  with  so  honest  a  fellow.  .  .  . 

Exit  Careless 

5  Let  me  see,  two  thirds  of  these  five  hundred  and  thirty 
odd  pounds  are  mine  by  right.  I  find  one's  ancestors  are 
more  valuable  relations  than  I  took  them  for  !  Ladies  and 
gentlemen,  your  most  obedient  and  grateful  servant. 

(Bows  ceremoniously  to  the  pictures) 
Curtain 

Conquest :  the  Norman  Conquest  of  England  was  in  1066.  —  genealogy  : 
line  of  descent ;  names  of  direct  ancestors.  — family  tree  :  a  family  record, 
often  drawn  in  the  form  of  a  tree.  —  knock  down :  assign  to  a  bidder,  at 
an  auction  by  a  blow  of  the  auctioneer's  hammer.  — Marlborough :  a  famous 
English  general.  — Malplaquet  (mal  pla  kg')  :  a  French  village,  famous  for 
an  English  victory  in  1709.  —  speak:  name  a  price.  —  Kneller  (nSl'er)  :  a 
*  German-English  portrait  painter  of  the  eighteenth  century.  —  five  pounds 
ten:  five  pounds  ten  shillings,  or  about  $26.50.; — Careless!:  Charles  is 
calling  the  auctioneer's  attention  to  another  sale.  —  guinea :  a  former  gold 
coin  worth  twenty-one  shillings.  Certain  bills  are  still  reckoned  in  guineas, 
though  the  coin  is  no  longer  made.  — woolsack  :  the  seat  of  the  Lord  Chan- 
cellor of  England  in  the  House  of  Lords.  It  is  a  large  square  sack  of  wool, 
resembling  a  divan,  and  its  purpose  is  to  keep  in  mind  the  value  of  wool 
as  a  source  of  national  wealth.  —  Norwich  (nor'wYch ;  often  pronounced 
nSr'Ij)  :  an  old  city  of  England.  —  inveterate  :  old,  obstinate.  —  draft :  an 
order  for  the  payment  of  money.  —  hark'ee  :  listen.  —  hold  :  stop.  —  nabob : 
one  who  returns  from  the  East  with  great  wealth.  —  peremptorily  (pSr'gmp- 
to  rl  ly)  :  decidedly ;  absolutely. 


339 
VENICE 

John  Ruskin 

John  Ruskin  (1819-1900)  was  an  English  artist  and  writer.  He  had 
a  keen  sense  of  social  obligation  and  longed  to  bring  about  a  popular  appre- 
ciation of  the  beautiful  in  nature  and  art. 

From  the  mouths  of  the  Adige  to  those  of  the  Piave 
there  stretches,  at  a  variable  distance  of  from  three  to  5 
five  miles  from  the  actual  shore,  a  bank  of  sand,  divided 
into  long  islands  by  narrow  channels  of  sea.  The  space 
between  this  bank  and  the  true  shore  consists  of  a  great 
plain  of  calcareous  mud,  covered,  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Venice,  by  the  sea  at  high  water,  to  the  depth  in  most  10 
places  of  a  foot  or  a  foot  and  a  half,  and  nearly  every- 
where exposed  at  low  tide,  but  divided  by  an  intricate 
network  of  narrow  and  winding  channels,  from  which  the 
sea  never  retires. 

In  some  places,  according  to  the  run  of  the  currents,  the  15 
land  has  risen  into  marshy  islets,  consolidated,  some  by 
art  and  some  by  time,  into  ground  firm  enough  to  be  built 
upon  or  fruitful  enough  to  be  cultivated.  In  others,  on 
the  contrary,  it  has  not  reached  the  sea  level  ;  so  that  at 
the  average  low  water  shallow  lakelets  glitter  among  its  20 
irregularly  exposed  fields  of  seaweed. 

In  the  midst  of  the  largest  of  these,  increased  in  impor- 
tance by  the  confluence  of  several  large  river  channels 


340 

towards  one  of  the  openings  in  the  sea  bank,  the  city  of 
Venice  itself  is  built,  on  a  crowded  cluster  of  islands.  The 
various  plots  of  higher  ground  which  appear  to  the  north 
and  south  of  this  central  cluster  have  at  different  periods 
5  been  also  thickly  inhabited,  and  now  bear,  according  to 
their  size,  the  remains  of  cities,  villages,  or  isolated  con- 
vents and  churches  scattered  among  spaces  of  open  ground, 
partly  waste  and  encumbered  by  ruins,  partly  under  culti- 
vation for  the  supply  of  the  metropolis. 

10  The  average  rise  and  fall  of  the  tide  is  about  three  feet 
(varying  considerably  with  the  seasons) ;  but  this  fall,  on 
so  flat  a  shore,  is  enough  to  cause  continual  movement  in 
the  waters,  and  in  the  main  canals  to  produce  a  reflux 
which  frequently  runs  like  a  mill  stream.    At  high  water 

15  no  land  is  visible  for  many  miles  to  the  north  or  south  of 
Venice,  except  in  the  form  of  small  islands  crowned  with 
towers  or  gleaming  with  villages. 

There  is  a  channel  some  three  miles  wide  between  the 
city  and  the  mainland,  and  some  mile  and  a  half  wide  be- 

20  tween  it  and  the  sandy  breakwater  which  divides  the 
lagoon  from  the  Adriatic.  This  is  so  low  as  hardly  to 
disturb  the  impression  of  the  city's  having  been  built  in 
the  midst  of  the  ocean,  although  the  secret  of  its  true 
position  is  partly  betrayed  by  the  clusters  of  piles  set  to 

25  mark  the  deep-water  channels,  which  undulate  far  away 
in  spotty  chains  like  the  studded  backs  of  huge  sea  snakes, 
and  by  the  quick  glittering  of  the  crisped  and  crowded 


341 

waves  that   flicker  and   dance    before  the   strong  winds 
upon  the  unlifted  level  of  the  shallow  sea. 

But  the  scene  is  widely  different  at  low  tide.    A  fall  of 
eighteen  or  twenty  inches  is  enough  to  show  ground  over 
the  greater  part  of  the  lagoon  ;  and  at  the  complete  ebb    5 
the  city  is  seen  standing  in  the  midst  of  a  dark  plain  of 
seaweed.    Through  this  salt  and  somber  plain  the  gondola 
and  the  fishing  boat  advance  by  tortuous  channels,  seldom 
more  than  four  or  five  feet  deep  and  often  so  choked  with 
slime  that  the  heavier  keels  furrow  the  bottom  till  their  10 
crossing  tracks  are  seen  through  the  clear  sea  water  like 
the  ruts  upon  a  wintry  road,  and  the  oar  leaves  blue  gashes 
upon  the  ground  at  every  stroke  or  is  entangled  among  the 
thick  weed  that  fringes  the  banks  with  the  weight  of  its 
sullen  waves,  leaning  to  and  fro  upon  the  uncertain  sway  15 
of  the  exhausted  tide. 

The  scene  is  often  profoundly  oppressive  even  at  this 
day,  when  every  plot  of  higher  ground  bears  some  frag- 
ment of  fair  building  ;  but  in  order  to  know  what  it  was 
once,  let  the  traveler  follow  in  his  boat  at  evening  the  20 
windings  of  some  unfrequented  channel  far  into  the  midst 
of  the  melancholy  plain  ;  let  him  remove,  in  his  imagina- 
tion, the  brightness  of  the  great  city  that  still  extends 
itself  in  the  distance,  and  the  walls  and  towers  from  the 
islands  that  are  near ;  and  so  wait,  until  the  sweet  warmth  25 
of  the  sunset  is  withdrawn  from  the  waters,  and  the  black 
desert  of  their  shore  lies  in  its  nakedness  beneath  the 


342 

night,  and  he  will  be  enabled  to  enter  in  some  sort  into 
the  horror  of  heart  with  which  this  solitude  was  anciently 
chosen  by  man  for  his  habitation.  They  little  thought, 
wTho  first  drove  the  stakes  into  the  sand  and  strewed  the 
5  ocean  reeds  for  their  rest,  that  their  children  were  to  be 
the  princes  of  that  ocean  and  their  palaces  its  pride. 

From  Stones  of  Venice 

Adige  (a'de  ja)  and  Piave  (pya'va)  :  rivers  of  northern  Italy.  — calcare- 
ous :  full  of  shells  and  other  forms  of  lime  deposits.  —  confluence  :  running- 
together.  —  the  princes  of  that  ocean :  for  many  years  Venice  was  the  capi- 
tal of  a  celebrated  republic  and  the  first  sea  power  of  the  world.  The 
ceremony  by  which  the  doge,  or  chief  magistrate,  of  Venice  "wedded  the 
Adriatic  "  was  an  interesting  one. 


VENICE 

Lord  Byron 

George  Gordon,  Lord  Byron  (1788-1824)  ranks  with  the  most  famous 
of  English  poets.    His  verse,  though  well-nigh  perfect  in  form,  lacks  some- 
thing of  the  highest  quality.  The  following  lines  are  from  Childe  Harold's 
10  Pilgrimage. 

I  stood  in  Venice,  on  the  Bridge  of  Sighs, 
A  palace  and  a  prison  on  each  hand ; 
I  saw  from  out  the  wave  her  structures  rise 
As  from  the  stroke  of  the  enchanter's  wand  : 
15  A  thousand  years  their  cloudy  wings  expand 

Around  me,  and  a  dying  glory  smiles 
O'er  the  far  times  when  many  a  subject  land 


343 


344 

Looked  to  the  winged  Lion's  marble  piles, 

Where  Venice  sate  in  state,  throned  on  her  hundred  isles ! 

She  looks  a  sea  Cybele,  fresh  from  ocean, 

Rising  with  her  tiara  of  proud  towers, 
5  At  airy  distance,  with  majestic  motion, 

A  ruler  of  the  waters  and  their  powers. 

And  such  she  was ;  —  her  daughters  had  their  dowers 

From  spoils  of  nations,  and  the  exhaustless  East 

Poured  in  her  lap  all  gems  in  sparkling  showers. 
10  In  purple  was  she  robed,  and  of  her  feast 

Monarchs  partook,  and  deemed  their  dignity  increased. 

In  Venice  Tasso's  echoes  are  no  more, 

And  silent  rows  the  songless  gondolier  ; 

Her  palaces  are  crumbling  to  the  shore, 
15  And  music  meets  not  always  now  the  ear  ; 

Those  days  are  gone  —  but  Beauty  still  is  here  ; 

States  fall,  arts  fade,  but  Nature  doth  not  die, 

Nor  yet  forget  how  Venice  once  was  dear, 

The  pleasant  place  of  all  festivity, 
20  The  revel  of  the  earth,  the  masque  of  Italy ! 

Bridge  of  Sighs  :  a  covered  passageway  leading  from  the  doge's  palace 
to  the  prisons  ;  so  called  because  condemned  criminals  had  to  pass  through 
it.  — the  winged  Lion  :  the  device  of  the  Venetian  republic,  as  the  eagle  is 
that  of  the  United  States.  —  Cybele  (si  be'le)  :  the  great  mother  of  the  gods 
in  Greek  and  Roman  mythology.  —  tiara  (tl  a'  ra)  :  Cybele  is  represented  in 
art  with  a  crown  whose  rim  is  cut  to  imitate  the  towers  and  battlements 
of  a  fortress.  —  Tasso  :  a  great  Italian  poet.  —  masque  :  a  gay  masquerade. 


345 
EACH  AND  ALL 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson 

All  are  needed  by  each,  one ; 
Nothing  is  fair  or  good  alone. 

I  thought  the  sparrow's  note  from  heaven, 

Singing  at  dawn  on  the  alder  bough ; 

I  brought  him  home,  in  his  nest,  at  even ;  5 

He  sings  the  song,  but  it  cheers  not  now, 

For  I  did  not  bring  home  the  river  and  sky ; 

He  sang  to  my  ear,  —  they  sang  to  my  eye. 

The  delicate  shells  lay  on  the  shore ; 

The  bubbles  of  the  latest  wave  10 

Fresh  pearls  to  their  enamel  gave, 

And  the  bellowing  of  the  savage  sea 

Greeted  their  safe  escape  to  me. 

I  wiped  away  the  weeds  and  foam, 

I  fetched  my  sea-born  treasures  home  ;  15 

But  the  poor,  unsightly,  noisome  things 

Had  left  their  beauty  on  the  shore 

With  the  sun  and  the  sand  and  the  wild  uproar. 


346 
THE  BATTLE  OF  BANNOCKBURN 

John  Richard  Green 

John  Richard  Green  (1837-1883)  was  an  English  historian  who 
gives  interesting  pictures  instead  of  dull  figures  and  statistics. 

Note.  In  1314  a  decisive  battle  was  fought  between  the  English  and 
Scottish  armies  at  Bannockburn.  The  heir  to  the  throue  of  Scotland  and 
5  the  leader  of  her  army  was  Robert  Bruce.  Bruce 's  success  in  repelling  the 
threatened  English  invasion  has  made  his  name  famous.  Wallace  and 
"  The  Bruce,"  as  he  is  called,  are  still  held  in  warm  remembrance  in  Scot- 
land as  the  greatest  heroes  of  her  history. 

Strong  and  of  commanding  presence,  brave  and  genial 
10  in  temper,  Bruce  bore  the  hardships  of  his  career  with  a 
courage  and  hopefulness  which  never  failed.    In  the  leg- 
ends which  clustered  round  his  name  we  see  him  listening 
in  Highland  glens  to  the  bay  of  the  bloodhounds  on  his 
track,  or  holding  single-handed  a  pass  against  a  crowd  of 
15  savage  clansmen.    Sometimes  the  little  band  which  clung 
to  him  were  forced  to  support  themselves  by  hunting  or 
fishing,  sometimes  to  break  up  for  safety  as  their  enemies 
tracked  them  to  the  lair.    Bruce  himself  had  more  than 
once  to  fling  off  his  shirt  of  mail  and  scramble  barefoot 
20  for  very  life  up  the  crags. 

Little  by  little,  however,  the  dark  sky  cleared.  James 
Douglas,  the  darling  of  Scotch  story,  was  the  first  of  the 
Lowland  barons  to  rally  again  to  the  Bruce,  and  his  dar- 
ing gave  heart  to  the  king's  cause.     A  terrible  ferocity 


347 

mingled  with  heroism  in  the  work  of  freedom,  but  the 
revival  of  the  country  went  steadily  on.  Edinburgh,  Rox- 
burgh, Perth,  and  most  of  the  Scotch  fortresses  fell  one 
by  one  into  King  Robert's  hands.  The  clergy  met  in 
council  and  owned  him  as  their  lawful  lord.  Gradually  5 
the  Scotch  barons  who  still  held  to  the  English  cause 
were  coerced  into  submission,  and  Bruce  found  himself 
strong  enough  to  invest  Stirling,  the  last  and  the  most 
important  of  the  Scotch  fortresses  which  held  out  for 
Edward.  10 

Stirling  was  in  fact  the  key  of  Scotland,  and  its  danger 
roused  England  out  of  its  civil  strife  to  a  vast  effort  for 
the  recovery  of  its  prey.  Thirty  thousand  horsemen 
formed  the  fighting  part  of  the  great  army  which  fol- 
lowed Edward  to  the  north,  and  a  host  of  wild  marauders  15 
had  been  summoned  from  Ireland  and  Wales  to  its  support. 

The  army  which  Bruce  had  gathered  to  oppose  the 
inroad  was  formed  almost  wholly  of  footmen,  and  was 
stationed  to  the  south  of  Stirling  on  a  rising  ground 
flanked  by  a  little  brook,  the  Bannock  burn  which  gave  its  20 
name  to  the  engagement.  At  the  opening  of  the  battle 
the  English  archers  were  thrown  forward  to  rake  the 
Scottish  squares,  but  they  were  without  support  and  were 
easily  dispersed  by  a  handful  of  horse  whom  Bruce  had 
held  in  reserve  for  the  purpose.  The  body  of  men  at  arms  25 
next  flung  themselves  on  the  Scottish  front,  but  their 
charge  was  embarrassed  by  the  narrow  space  along  which 


348 

the  line  was  forced  to  move,  and  the  steady  resistance  of 
the  squares  soon  threw  the  knighthood  into  disorder.  In 
the  moment  of  failure  the  sight  of  a  body  of  camp  followers, 
whom  they  mistook  for  reinforcements  to  the  enemy, 
5  spread  panic  through  the  English  host.  It  broke  in  a 
headlong  rout.  Its  thousands  of  brilliant  horsemen  were 
soon  floundering  in  pits  which  had  guarded  the  level 
ground  to  Bruce's  left,  or  riding  in  wild  haste  for  the 
border.    Few,  however,  were  fortunate  enough  to  reach  it. 

10  Edward  himself,  with  a  body  of  five  hundred  knights,  suc- 
ceeded in  escaping  to  Dunbar  and  the  sea.  But  the  flower 
of  his  knighthood  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  victors,  while 
the  footmen  were  ruthlessly  cut  down  by  the  country  folk 
as  they  fled.    For  centuries  after,  the  rich  plunder  of  the 

15  English  camp  left  its  traces  on  the  treasure  and  vestment 
rolls  of  castle  and  abbey  throughout  the  Lowlands. 

From  A  Short  History  of  the  English  People 

savage  clansmen :  there  was  no  friendliness  between  the  Highlands  and 
the  Lowlands  of  Scotland,  and  Bruce  owed  his  throne  to  the  Lowlands.  — 
James  Douglas:  called  "The  Black  Douglas"  because  of  his  dark  com- 
plexion. His  name  was  a  terror  to  his  enemies,  but  both  friend  and  foe 
admired  his  courtesy  and  his  courage.  His  great-nephew  was  the  hero  of 
the  ballad  "  The  Hunting  of  the  Cheviot."  —  Edinburgh  (6d"nbur6),  Rox- 
burgh (roks'bur  o),  and  Perth:  three  famous  fortresses  in  the  eastern  part 
of  Scotland.  —  invest :  lay  siege  to.  —  Stirling  :  a  castle  and  town  noted  in 
Scottish  history.  Stirling  stands  midway  between  the  east  and  west  coasts 
and  at  the  entrance  of  the  Highlands.  — Edward  :  Edward  II  of  England, 

who  claimed  to  be  ruler  of  Scotland  also.  —  burn  :  brook rake  :  destroy. 

—  squares  :   Bruce  drew  up  his  forces  in  squares.  —  men  at  arms  :  soldiers 
fully  armed.  —  pits  :  deep  holes  covered  lightly  with  straw. 


349 
THE  MARCH  TO  BANNOCKBURN 

Robert   Burns 

Robert  Burns,  the  beloved  poet  of  Scotland,  was  born  in  1759  and 
died  in  1796.  ••  In  no  heart,"  says  Thomas  Carlyle,  "did  the  love  of 
country  ever  burn  with  a  warmer  glow  than  in  that  of  Burns."  Nature 
gave  him  the  true  gift  of  song,  a  winning  personality,  and  a  sympathetic 
heart,  yet  the  critic  must  find  much  in  his  life  to  pity  and  even  to  blame.     5 

Note.  Burns  imagines  his  hero,  Robert  Bruce,  as  encouraging  his  men 
before  the  great  battle. 

Scots,  wha  hae  wf  Wallace  bled, 

Scots,  wham  Bruce  has  aften  led, 

Welcome  to  your  gory  bed,  10 

Or  to  victorie  ! 
Now's  the  day,  and  now  's  the  hour; 
See  the  front  o'  battle  lower ; 
See  approach  proud  Edward's  power  — 

Chains  and  slaverie  !  15 

Wha  will  be  a  traitor  knave  ? 
Wha  can  fill  a  coward's  grave  ? 
Wha  sae  base  as  be  a  slave  ? 

Let  him  turn  and  flee  ! 
Wha  for  Scotland's  king  and  law  20 

Freedom's  sword  will  strongly  draw, 
Freeman  stand,  or  freeman  fa'  ? 

Let  him  on  wi'  me ! 


350 

By  oppression's  woes  and  pains ! 
By  your  sons  in  servile  chains ! 
We  will  drain  our  dearest  veins, 

But  they  shall  be  free  ! 
Lay  the  proud  usurpers  low ! 
Tyrants  fall  in  every  foe  ! 
Liberty's  in  every  blow  ! 

Let  us  do,  or  die! 

wha  hae  (hwa  ha)  :  who  have.  —  Wallace  :  a  patriot  and  hero  of  Scot- 
land.—  wham  (hwara)  :  whom.  —  aften  :  often.  — Edward:  Edward  II  of 
England.  —  fa'  (fa) :  fall on  :  come  on.  —  dearest :  most  vital. 


0  Scotia !  my  dear,  my  native  soil ! 
10  For  whom  my  warmest  wish  to  heaven  is  sent, 

Long  may  thy  hardy  sons  of  rustic  toil 

Be  blest  with  health,  and  peace,  and  sweet  content ! 
And  oh  !  may  heaven  their  simple  lives  prevent 
From  luxury's  contagion,  weak  and  vile ! 
15  Then,  howe'er  crowns  and  coronets  be  rent, 

A  virtuous  populace  may  rise  the  while, 
And  stand  a  wall  of  fire  around  their  much-loved  isle. 

From  The  Cotter's  Saturday  Night 
Robert  Burns 


351 
ROBERT  BURNS 

Thomas  Carlyle 

Thomas  Carlyle  (1795-1881)  was  a  Scottish  essayist,  historian,  and 
philosopher.  He  was  a  brave  thinker,  an  honest  speaker,  and  a  strong, 
forceful  writer. 

Properly  speaking,  there  is  but  one  era  in  the  life  of 
Burns,  and  that  the  earliest.     We  have  not  youth  and   5 
manhood,  but  only  }routh ;  for,  to  the  end,  we  discern  no 
decisive  change  in  the  complexion  of  his  character ;  in  his 
thirty-seventh  year  he  is  still,  as  it  were,  in  youth.  .  .  . 
For  the  world  still  appears  to  him,  as  to  the  young,  in 
borrowed  colors ;  he  expects  from  it  what  it  cannot  give  10 
to  any  man ;  seeks  for  contentment,  not  within  himself, 
in  action  and  wise  effort,  but  from  without,  in  the  kind- 
ness of  circumstance,  in  love,  friendship,  honor,  pecuniary 
ease.    He  would  be  happy,  not  actively  and  in  himself, 
but  passively  and  from  some  ideal  cornucopia  of  Enjoy-  15 
ment,  not  earned  by  his  own  labor,  but  showered  on  him 
by  the  beneficence  of  Destiny. 

In  his  parentage,  deducting  outward  circumstances,  he 
had  every  reason  to  reckon  himself  fortunate.  His  father 
was  a  man  of  thoughtful,  intense,  earnest  character,  as  20 
the  best  of  our  peasants  are ;  valuing  knowledge,  possess- 
ing some,  and,  what  is  far  better  and  rarer,  open-minded 
for   more ;    a  man  with  a   keen   insight  and  a   devout 


352 

heart ;  reverent  toward  God,  friendly,  therefore,  and  fear- 
less towards  all  that  God  has  made.  Unfortunately  he  was 
very  poor;  had  he  been  even  a  little  richer,  the  whole 
might  have  issued  far  otherwise.    Mighty  events  turn  on  a 

5  straw  ;  the  crossing  of  a  brook  decides  the  conquest  of  the 
world.  Had  this  William  Burns' s  seven  acres  of  ground 
prospered,  the  boy  Robert  had  been  sent  to  school;  had 
struggled  forward,  as  so  many  weaker  men  do,  to  some 
university ;  come  forth  not  as  a  rustic  wonder,  but  as  a 

10  well-trained,  intellectual  workman,  and  changed  the  whole 
course  of  British  literature  ;  for  it  lay  in  him  to  have 
done  this.  But  Burns  remained  a  hard-worked  plowboy, 
and  British  literature  took  its  course. 

We  know  from  the  best  evidence  that  up  to  this  date 

15  [1781]  Burns  was  happy;  nay,  that  he  was  the  gayest, 
brightest,  most  fantastic,  fascinating  being  to  be  found  in 
the  world ;  more  so  even  than  he  ever  afterwards  appeared. 
But  now,  at  this  early  age,  he  quits  the  paternal  roof  and 
goes  forth  into  looser,  louder,  more  exciting  society.  .  .  . 

20  Manhood  begins  when  we  have  reconciled  ourselves  to 
Necessity  and  thus  in  reality  triumphed  over  it  and  felt 
that  in  Necessity  we  are  free.    Had  Burns  continued  to 

•  learn  this,  as  he  was  already  learning  it  in  his  father's 
cottage,  he  would  have  been  saved  many  a  bitter  hour 

25  and  year  of  remorseful  sorrow.       From  An  Essay  on  Bums 

cornucopia  :    horn  of  plenty  :  in  classical  mythology  a  magic  horn  which 
instantly  became  filled  with  whatever  its  possessor  desired. 


353 


THE  PILGRIM  FATHERS 


John  Boyle  O'Reilly 

John  Boyle  O'Reilly  (1844-1890),  a  native  of  Ireland,  came  to 
America  in  1869  and  soon  built  up  for  himself  an  enviable  fame  as  a 
journalist  and  poet. 

Note.  The  following  remarkable  tribute  to  the  Pilgrim  settlers  of  Xew 
England  will  repay  thoughtful  study.  It  is  not  easy  reading,  but  many  of 
the  lines  are  well  worth  committing  to  memory. 

So  held  they  firm,  the  Fathers  aye  to  be, 
From  home  to  Holland,  Holland  to  the  sea ; 
Pilgrims  for  manhood,  in  their  little  ship, 
Hope  in  each  heart  and  prayer  on  every  lip. 


10 


They  could  not  live  by  king-made  codes  and  creeds 
They  chose  the  path  where  every  footstep  bleeds. 
Protesting,  not  rebelling ;  scorned  and  banned ; 
Through  pains  and*prisons  harried  from  the  land ; 


354 

Through  double  exile,  —  till  at  last  they  stand 
Apart  from  all.  —  unique,  unworldly,  true, 
Selected  grain  to  sow  the  earth  anew ; 
A  winnowed  part,  a  saving  remnant  they  ; 
5      Dreamers  who  work,  adventurers  who  pray ! 

Here,  on  this  rock,  and  on  this  sterile  soil, 
Began  the  kingdom  not  of  kings,  but  men : 
Began  the  making  of  the  world  again. 
Here  centuries  sank,  and  from  the  hither  Drink 

10      A  new  world  reached  and  raised  an  old-world  link, 
When  English  hands,  by  wider  vision  taught, 
Threw  down  the  feudal  bars  the  Normans  brought, 
And  here  revived,  in  spite  of  sword  and  stake, 
Their  ancient  freedom  of  the  wapentake  ! 

15      Here  struck  the  seed  —  the  Pilgrims'  roofless  town, 
Where  equal  rights  and  equal  bonds  were  set, 
Where  all  the  people  equal-f ranch  ised  met ; 
Where  doom  was  writ  of  privilege  and  crown ; 
Where  human  breath  blew  all  the  idols  down  ; 

20      Where  crests   were  naught,  where  vulture  flags  were 
furled, 
And  common  men  began  to  own  the  world ! 

Give  praise  to  others,  early-come  or  late, 

For  love  and  labor  on  our  ship  of  state  ; 

25      But  this  must  stand  above  all  fame  and  zeal : 


355 

The  Pilgrim  Fathers  laid  the  ribs  and  keel. 

On  their  strong  lines  we  base  our  social  health,  — 

The  man — the  home  —  the  town  —  the  commonwealth ! 

Unconscious  builders  ?   Yea :  the  conscious  fail ! 

Design  is  impotent  if  Nature  frown.  5 

No  deathless  pile  has  grown  from  intellect. 

Immortal  things  have  God  for  architect, 

And  men  are  but  the  granite  he  lays  down. 

Unconscious  ?   Yea  !    They  thought  it  might  avail 

To  build  a  gloomy  creed  about  their  lives,  10 

To  shut  out  all  dissent ;  but  naught  survives 

Of  their  poor  structure  ;  and  we  know  to-day 

Their  mission  was  less  pastoral  than  lay  — 

More  Nation-seed  than  Gospel-seed  were  they ! 

Their  strict  professions  were  not  cant  nor  pride.  15 

Who  calls  them  narrow,  let  his  soul  be  wide  ! 

Austere,  exclusive  —  ay,  but  with  their  faults, 

Their  golden  probity  mankind  exalts. 

They  never  lied  in  practice,  peace,  or  strife ; 

They  were  no  hypocrites  ;  their  faith  was  clear ;  20 

They  feared  too  much  some  sins  men  ought  to  fear : 

The  lordly  arrogance  and  avarice, 

And  vain  frivolity's  besotting  vice  ; 

The  stern  enthusiasm  of  their  life 

Impelled  too  far,  and  weighed  poor  nature  down  ;  25 

They  missed  God's  smile,  perhaps,  to  watch  his  frown. 


356 

But  he  who  digs  for  faults  shall  resurrect 

Their  manly  virtues  born  of  self-respect. 

How  sum  their  merits  ?    They  were  true  and  brave  ; 

They  broke  no  compact  and  they  owned  no  slave. 

5      They  had  no  servile  order,  no  dumb  throat ; 
They  trusted  first  the  universal  vote ; 
The  first  were  they  to  practice  and  instill 
The  rule  of  law  and  not  the  rule  of  will ; 
They  lived  one  noble  test  :  who  would  be  freed 

10      Must  give  up  all  to  follow  duty's  lead. 
They  made  no  revolution  based  on  blows, 
But  taught  one  truth  that  all  the  planet  knows, 
That  all  men  think  of,  looking  on  a  throne  — 
The  people  may  be  trusted  with  their  own ! 

aye  (ay)  :  ever.  —  harried  :  worried,  driven.  —  double  exile  :  first  in  Hol- 
land, then  across  the  sea.  —  selected  grain  :  "  God  sifted  a  whole  nation  that 
he  might  send  choice  grain  over  into  this  wilderness  "  (Stoughton) ;  "  God 
had  sifted  three  kingdoms  to  find  the  wheat  for  this  planting"  (Longfellow). 
—  hither  brink  :  this  side.  —  feudal  bars :  restrictions  made  on  English  liberty 
by  the  customs  of  the  Norman  conquerors  who  introduced  feudal  slavery 
early  in  English  history.  —  wapentake  :  an  armed  assembly  of  freemen  in 
England,  belonging  to  the  time  of  the  Angles  and  Saxons. — privilege: 
in  England  the  nobles  were  allowed  many  privileges  or  favors  unknown 
to  the  common  people.  —  crests  :  decorations  which  only  privileged  classes 
were  allowed  to  wear.  —  vulture  flags  :  a  favorite  design  for  the  private  flag 
of  a  powerful  noble  was  a  bird  of  prey.  —  ship  of  state  :  the  nation.  — 
the  town  :  the  town  meeting,  the  cradle *of  liberty,  was  a  survival  of  the 
wapentake.  —  impotent:  powerless.  No  plan  succeeds  which  is  contrary 
to  nature.  —  lay  :  relating  to  the  people  rather  than  to  the  clergy.  —  sum  : 
sum  up.  —  servile  order  :  a  slave  class,  having  no  voice  in  the  government. 
See  "  dumb  throat,"  in  the  same  line. 


357 


ELIZABETH'S  VISIT  TO  KENILWORTH 

W alter  Scott 

Sir  Walter  Scott  was  born  at  Edinburgh,  Scotland,  in  1771  ;  he 
died  at  Abbotsford  in  1832.  During  his  youth  he  suffered  from  ill  health 
and  spent  much  time  in  the  open  air  on  his  grandfather's  farm.  Here  he 
became  familiar  with  the  ballads  and  traditions  of  the  Scottish  border,  of 
which  he  afterward  made  use  in  his  poems  and  novels.  Scott  has  often  5 
been  called  »  The  Wizard  of  the  Xorth,"  so  wonderful  was  the  power  and 
rapidity  of  his  work.  His  first  novel,  Waverley,  met  with  instant  success 
and  was  followed  quickly  by  Guy  Man nt 'ring,  Ivanhoe,  Kenilworth,  Quentin 
Duncard,  and  many  others,  the  series  being  known  as  the  Waverley  Novels, 
from  the  name  of  the  first  one.    The  following  selection  is  from  Kenilworth.  10 

Note.  The  description  given  by  the  author  is  founded  upon  Robert 
Laneham's  account  of  Elizabeth's  entertainment  at  Kenilworth,  written 
in  1575. 

It  was  the  twilight  of  a  summer  night  (July  9th,  1575), 
the  sun  having  for  some  time  set,  and  all  were  in  anxious  15 
expectation  of  the  queen's  immediate  approach.  The  mul- 
titude had  remained  assembled  for  many  hours,  and  their 
numbers  were  still  rather  on  the  increase.  A  profuse  dis- 
tribution of  refreshments,  together  with  roasted  oxen  and 
barrels  of  ale  set  abroach  in  different  places  of  the  road,  20 
had  kept  the  populace  in  perfect  love  and  loyalty  towards 
the  queen  and  her  favorite,  which  might  have  somewhat 
abated  had  fasting  been  added  to  watching.  They  passed 
away  the  time,  therefore,  with  the  usual  popular  amuse-- 
ments    of   whooping,    hallooing,   shrieking,   and   playing  25 


358 

rude  tricks  upon  each  other,  forming  the  chorus  of  dis- 
cordant sounds  usual  on  such  occasions.  These  prevailed 
all  through  the  crowded  roads  and  fields,  and  especially 
beyond  the  gate  of  the  chase,  where  the  greater  number 
5  of  the  common  sort  were  stationed,  when  all  of  a  sudden 
a  single  rocket  was  seen  to  shoot  into  the  atmosphere, 
and  at  the  instant,  far  heard  over  flood  and  field,  the 
great  bell  of  the  castle  tolled. 

Immediately  there  was  a  pause  of  dead  silence,  suc- 

10  ceeded  by  a  deep  hum  of  expectation,  the  united  voice  of 
many  thousands,  none  of  whom  spoke  above  their  breath, 
or,  to  use  a  singular  expression,  the  whisper  of  an  immense 
multitude. 

Presently  there  came  a  shout  of  applause,  so  tremen- 

15  dously  vociferous  that  the  country  echoed  for  miles  round. 
The  guards,  thickly  stationed  upon  the  road  by  which  the 
queen  was  to  advance,  caught  up  the  acclamation,  which 
ran  like  wildfire  to  the  castle,  and  announced  to  all  within 
that  Queen  Elizabeth  had  entered  the  royal  chase  of  Ken- 

20  ilworth.  The  whole  music  of  the  castle  sounded  at  once, 
and  a  round  of  artillery,  with  a  salvo  of  small  arms,  was 
discharged  from  the  battlements ;  but  the  noise  of  drums 
and  trumpets,  and  even  of  the  cannon  themselves,  was 
but  faintly  heard  amidst  the  roaring  and  reiterated  wel- 

25  comes  of  the  multitude. 

As  the  noise  began  to  abate,  a  broad  glare  of  light  was 
seen  to  appear  from  the  gate  of  the  park,  and,  broadening 


359 

and  brightening  as  it  came  nearer,  advanced  along  the 
open  and  fair  avenue  that  led  towards  the  gallery  tower. 
The  word  was  passed  along  the  line,  "  The  Queen !  The 
Queen !  Silence,  and  stand  fast !  "  Onward  came  the  cav- 
alcade, illuminated  by  two  hundred  thick  waxen  torches,  5 
in  the  hands  of  as  many  horsemen,  which  cast  a  light  like 
that  of  broad  day  all  around  the  procession,  but  especially 
on  the  principal  group,  of  which  the  queen  herself, 
arrayed  in  the  most  splendid  manner,  and  blazing  with 
jewels,  formed  the  central  figure.  She  was  mounted  on  a  10 
milk-white  horse,  which  she  reined  with  peculiar  grace 
and  dignity ;  and  in  the  whole  of  her  stately  and  noble 
carriage  you  saw  the  daughter  of  a  hundred  kings. 

The  ladies  of  the  court  who  rode  beside  her  majesty 
had  taken  especial  care  that  their  own  appearance  should  15 
not  be  more  glorious  than  the  occasion  demanded,  so  that 
no  inferior  luminary  might  appear  to  approach  the  orbit 
of  royalty.  But  their  personal  charms,  and  the  magnifi- 
cence by  which  they  were  distinguished,  exhibited  them  as 
the  very  flower  of  a  realm  so  far  famed  for  splendor  and  20 
beaut}". 

Leicester,  who  glittered  like  a  golden  image  with  jewels 
and  cloth  of  gold,  rode  on  her  majesty's  right  hand,  as  well 
in  quality  of  her  host  as  of  her  master  of  the  horse.  The 
black  steed  that  he  mounted  had  not  a  single  white  hair  25 
on  his  body,  and  was  one  of  the  most  renowned  chargers 
in  Europe,  having  been  purchased  by  the  earl  at  large 


360 

expense    for   this    royal   occasion.    As  the  noble   animal 

•  chafed  at  the  slow  pace  of  the  procession,  and,  arching 
his  stately  neck,  champed  on  the  silver  bits  which  re- 
strained him,  the  foam  flew  from  his  mouth  and  specked 
5  his  well-formed  limbs  as  if  with  spots  of  snow.  The  rider 
well  became  the  high  place  which  he  held  and  the  proud 
steed  which  he  bestrode,  for  no  man  in  England,  or  per- 
haps in  Europe,  was  more  perfect  than  Dudley  in  horse- 
manship and  all  other  exercises  belonging  to  his  quality. 

10  He  was  bareheaded,  as  were  all  the  courtiers  in  the  train, 
and  the  red  torchlight  shone  upon  his  long  curled  tresses 
of  dark  hair,  and  on  his  noble  features. 

The  train,  male  and  female,  who  attended  immediately 
upon  the  queen's  person  were  of  course  of  the  bravest 

15  and  the  fairest,  —  the  highest-born  nobles  and  the  wisest 
counselors  of  that  distinguished  reign.  Thus  marshaled, 
the  cavalcade  approached  the  gallery  tower  which  formed 
the  extreme  barrier  of  the  castle. 

Elizabeth  received  most  graciously  the  homage  of  the 

20  Herculean  porter,  and,  bending  her  head  to  him  in  re- 
quital, passed  through  his  guarded  tower,  from  the  top 
of  which  was  poured  a  clamorous  blast  of  warlike  music, 
which  was  replied  to  by  other  bands  of  minstrelsy  placed 
at  different  points  on  the  castle  walls,  and  by  others  again 

25  stationed  in  the  chase,  while  the  tones  of  the  one,  as 
they  yet  vibrated  on  the  echoes,  were  caught  up  and 
answered  by  new  harmony  from  different  quarters. 


361 


362 

Amidst  these  bursts  of  music,  which,  as  if  the  work  of 
enchantment,  seemed  now  close  at  hand,  now  softened  by 
distant  space,  now  wailing  low  and  sweet  as  if  that  dis- 
tance were  gradually  prolonged  until  only  the  last  linger- 
5  ing  strains  could  reach  the  ear,  Queen  Elizabeth  crossed 
the  gallery  tower  and  came  upon  the  long  bridge,  which 
extended  from  thence  to  Mortimer's  Tower  and  which 
was  already  as  light  as  day,  so  many  torches  had  been 
fastened  to  the  palisades  on  either  side.    Most  of  the  nobles 

10  here  alighted  and  sent  their  horses  to  the  neighboring 
village  of  Kenilworth,  following  the  queen  on  foot,  as  did 
the  gentlemen  who  had  stood  in  array  to  receive  her  at 
the  gallery  tower. 

The  queen  had  no  sooner  stepped  on  the  bridge  than  a 

15  new  spectacle  was  provided  ;  for  as  soon  as  the  music 
gave  signal  that  she  was  so  far  advanced,  a  raft,  so  dis- 
posed as  to  resemble  a  small  floating  island,  illuminated 
by  a  great  variety  of  torches  and  surrounded  by  floating 
pageants  formed  to  represent  sea  horses,  on  which  sat  Tri- 

20  tons,  Nereids,  and  other  fabulous  deities  of  the  seas  and 

rivers,  made  its  appearance  upon  the  lake  and,  issuing 

from  behind  a  small  heronry  where  it  had  been  concealed, 

floated  gently  towards  the  farther  end  of  the  bridge. 

On   the  islet   appeared  a  beautiful  woman,  clad  in  a 

25  watchet-colored  silken  mantle  bound  with  a  broad  girdle, 
inscribed  with  characters  like  the  phylacteries  of  the  He- 
brews.   Her  feet  and  arms  were  bare,  but  her  wrists  and 


363 

ankles  were  adorned  with,  gold  bracelets  of  uncommon 
size.  Amidst  her  long,  silky  black  hair  she  wore  a  crown 
or  chaplet  of  artificial  mistletoe,  and  bore  in  her  hand  a 
rod  of  ebony  tipped  with  silver.  Two  nymphs  attended 
on  her,  dressed  in  the  same  antique  and  mystical  guise.        5 

The  pageant  was  so  well  managed  that  this  Lady  of  the 
Floating  Islands  landed  at  Mortimer's  Tower  with  her 
two  attendants  just  as  Elizabeth  presented  herself  before 
that  outwork.  The  stranger  then  announced  herself  as 
that  famous  Lady  of  the  Lake,  renowned  in  the  stories  of  10 
King  Arthur,  who  had  nursed  the  youth  of  the  redoubted 
Sir  Lancelot,  and  whose  beauty  had  proved  too  powerful 
both  for  the  wisdom  and  the  spells  of  the  mighty  Merlin. 
Since  that  early  period  she  had  remained  possessed  of  her 
crystal  dominions,  she  said,  despite  the  various  men  of  fame  15 
and  might  by  whom  Kenilworth  had  been  successively  ten- 
anted. The  Saxons,  the  Danes,  the  Normans,  the  Clintons, 
the  Mount-forts,  the  Mortimers,  the  Plantagenets,  great 
though  they  were  in  arms  and  magnificence,  had  never, 
she  said,  caused  her  to  raise  her  head  from  the  waters  20 
which  hid  her  crystal  palace.  But  a  greater  than  all  these 
names  had  now  appeared,  and  she  came  in  homage  and 
duty  to  welcome  the  peerless  Elizabeth  to  all  sport  which 
the  castle  and  its  environs,  which  lake  or  land,  could  afford. 

The  qu'een  received  this  address  also  with  great  cour-  25 
tesy,  and  made  answer  in  raillery,  "  We  thought  this  lake 
had  belonged  to  our  own  dominions,  fair  dame ;  but  since 


364 

so  famed  a  lady  claims  it  for  hers,  we  shall  be  glad  at 
some  other  time  to  have  further  communing  with  you 
touching  our  joint  interests." 

With    this    gracious    answer    the  .  Lady   of    the    Lake 

5  vanished.  But  it  is  by  no  means  our  purpose  to  detail 
minutely  all  the  princely  festivities  of  Kenil worth.  It 
is  sufficient  to  say  that  under  discharge  of  splendid  fire- 
works the  queen  entered  the  base-court  of  Kenilworth 
through    Mortimer's    Tower,    and,    moving    on    through 

10  pageants  of  heathen  gods  and  heroes  of  antiquity,  who 
offered  gifts  and  compliments  on  the  bended  knee,  at 
length  found  her  way  to  the  great  hall  of  the  castle,  gor- 
geously hung  for  her  reception  with  the  richest  silken 
tapestry,  misty  with  perfumes,  and  sounding  to  strains 

15  of  soft  and  delicious  music. 

Abridged 

her  favorite:  Dudley,  Earl  of  Leicester  (leVter),  the  master  of  Kenil- 
worth. —  the  chase  :  an  open  hunting  ground.  —  wildfire  :  a  mixture  of 
inflammable  materials  very  hard  to  quench  when  once  ignited.  —  salvo  : 

salute.  —  stand  fast :    stand  still the  daughter  :    the  descendant.  —  his 

quality :  his  rank.  —  Herculean  :  huge  as  Hercules,  the  Greek  hero.  — 
requital :  acknowledgment.  —  Tritons  :  gods  of  the  sea.  —  Nereids  (ne're  Ids) : 
water  nymphs.  —  heronry :  a  place  where  herons  breed.  —  watchet :  pale 
blue.  —  phylac'teries  :  amulets  or  charms  worn  by  the  ancient  Hebrews.  — 
outwork  :  part  of  the  outer  defense  of  a  castle.  —  Lady  of  the  Lake  :  a  mys- 
terious lady  in  the  story  of  King  Arthur.  —  Lancelot :  the  bravest  of  Arthur's 

knights Merlin  :    a  famous  enchanter.  —  the   Clintons,  the   Mountforts, 

etc.  :  names  famous  in  English  history.  —  envi'rons  :   surroundings. 


365 


OZYMANDIAS  OF  EGYPT 

Percy  Bysshe  Shelley 

Percy  Bysshe  (blsh)   Shelley   (1792-1822)  was  one  of  the  great 
English  poets.    He  is  famous  for  the  delicate  imagery  of  his  verse. 

I  met  a  traveler  from  an  antique  land 
Who  said :  Two  vast  and  trunkless  legs  of  stone 
Stand  in  the  desert.    Near  them  on  the  sand 
Half  sunk,  a  shattered  visage  lies,  whose  frown 
And  wrinkled  lip  and  sneer  of  cold  command 
Tell  that  its  sculptor  well  those  passions  read 
Which  yet  survive,  stamped  on  these  lifeless  things, 
The  hand  that  mocked  them  and  the  heart  that  fed ; 
And  on  the  pedestal  these  words  appear : 
"  My  name  is  Ozymandias,  king  of  kings : 
Look  on  my  works,  ye  Mighty,  and  despair ! " 
Nothing  beside  remains.    Round  the  decay 
Of  that  colossal  wreck,  boundless  and  bare, 
The  lone  and  level  sands  stretch  far  away. 

Ozymandias  (6z  I  man'dl  as)  :  a  famous  king  of  Egypt,  supposed  to  have 
lived  about  2000  b.c. 


10 


15 


366 
THE  QUARREL 

William  Shakespeare 

William  Shakespeare,  the  great  dramatist  of  the  world,  was  born 
at  Stratford  on  Avon,  England,  in  1564,  and  died  there  in  1616.  Among 
his  famous  plays  are  Hamlet,  Macbeth,  Julius  Ccesar,  The  Merchant  of  Venice, 
King  Lear,  and  The  Tempest.  Although  his  dramas  overshadow  his  other 
5  writings,  Shakespeare  holds  a  high  place  among  the  great  English  poets 
as  a  writer  of  sonnets  and  other  poems. 

Note.  In  the  year  44  B.C.  Julius  Caesar  was  the  head  of  the  Roman 
world.  Fearful  of  his  power,  seventy  or  eighty  conspirators  joined  in  a 
plot  to  assassinate  him  on  the  ides  (the  fifteenth  day)  of  March.    Brutus 

10  and  Cassius,  the  leaders  of  this  conspiracy,  were  forced  to  flee  from  the 
city  after  Caesar's  death,  and  soon  dissension  arose  between  them.  Mark 
Antony  and  Octavius  Caesar  followed  them  into  Macedonia,  a  country 
north  of  Greece,  to  disperse  the  armies  which  they  had  gathered.  The 
following  scene,  which  is  laid  in  Brutus'  tent,  shortly  before  the  battle 

15  of  Philippi,  is  taken  from  the  play  of  Julius  Cossar. 

'   Cassius.    That  you  have  wronged  me  doth  appear  in 

this : 
You  have  condemned  and  noted  Lucius  Pella 
For  taking  bribes  here  of  the  Sardians ; 
Wherein  my  letters,  praying  on  his  side, 
20  Because  I  knew  the  man,  were  slighted  off. 

Brutus.  You  wronged  yourself  to  write  in  such  a  case. 
Cassius.  In  such  a  time  as  this  it  is  not  meet 
That  every  nice  offense  should  bear  his  comment. 
Brutus.  Let  me  tell  you,  Cassius,  you  yourself 
25  Are  much  condemned  to  have  an  itching  palm  ; 


367 

To  sell  and  mart  your  offices  for  gold 
To  undeservers. 

Cassius.  I  an  itching  palm  ! 

You  know  that  you  are  Brutus  that  speak  this, 
Or,  by  the  gods,  this  speech  were  else  your  last. 

Brutus.  The  name  of  Cassius  honors  this  corruption,         5 
And  chastisement  doth  therefore  hide  his  head. 

Cassius.  Chastisement ! 

Brutus.  Remember  March,  the  ides  of  March  remember  : 
Did  not  great  Julius  bleed  for  justice'  sake  ? 
What  villain  touched  his  body,  that  did  stab,  10 

And  not  for  justice  ?    What,  shall  one  of  us, 
That  struck  the  foremost  man  of  all  this  world 
But  for  supporting  robbers,  shall  we  now 
Contaminate  our  fingers  with  base  bribes, 
And  sell  the  mighty  space  of  our  large  honors  15 

For  so  much  trash  as  may  be  grasped  thus  ? 
I  had  rather  be  a  dog,  and  bay  the  moon, 
Than  such  a  Roman. 

Cassius.  Brutus,  bay  not  me  ; 

I  '11  not  endure  it :  you  forget  yourself, 

To  hedge  me  in ;  I  am  a  soldier,  I,  20 

Older  in  practice,  abler  than  yourself 
To  make  conditions. 

Brutus.  Go  to;  you  are  not,  Cassius. 

Cassius.  I  am. 

Brutus.  I  say  you  are  not. 


368 

Cassius.  Urge  me  no  more,  I  shall  forget  myself ; 
Have  mind  upon  your  health,  tempt  me  np  further. 
Brutus.  Away,  slight  man  ! 
Cassius.  Is  't  possible  ? 
Brutus.  Hear  me,  for  I  will  speak. 

5  Must  I  give  way  and  room  to  your  rash  choler  ? 
Shall  I  be  frighted  when  a  madman  stares? 

Cassius.  0  ye  gods,  ye  gods  !    must  I  endure  all  this  ? 
Brutus.  All  this !   ay,  more :  fret  till  your  proud  heart 
break ; 
Go  show  your  slaves  how  choleric  you  are, 
10  And  make  your  bondmen  tremble.    Must  I  budge  ? 
Must  I  observe  you  ?   must  I  stand  and  crouch 
Under  your  testy  humor  ?   By  the  gods, 
You  shall  digest  the  venom  of  your  spleen, 
Though  it  do  split  you ;  for,  from  this  day  forth, 
15  I  '11  use  you  for  my  mirth,  yea,  for  my  laughter, 
When  you  are  waspish. 

Cassius.  Is  it  come  to  this  ? 

Brutus.  You  say  you  are  a  better  soldier : 
Let  it  appear  so ;  make  your  vaunting  true, 
And  it  shall  please  me  well :  for  mine  own  part, 
20  I  shall  be  glad  to  learn  of  noble  men. 

Cassius.    You  wrong  me  every  way;    you  wrong  me, 
Brutus ; 
I  said,  an  elder  soldier,  not  a  better : 
Did  I  say  "better"? 


369 

Brutus.  If  you  did,  I  care  not. 

Cassias.   When  Caesar  lived,  he  durst  not  thus  have 
moved  me. 

Brutus.  Peace,  peace !  you  durst  not  so  have  tempted 
him. 

Cassius.  I  durst  not  ? 

Brutus.  No.  5 

Cassius.  What,  durst  not  tempt  him  ? 

Brutus.  For  your  life  you  durst  not. 

Cassius.  Do  not  presume  too  much  upon  my  love  ; 
I  may  do  that  I  shall  be  sorry  for. 

Brutus.  You  have  done  that  you  should  be  sorry  for. 
There  is  no  terror,  Cassius,  in  your  threats,  10 

For  I  am  armed  so  strong  in  honesty 
That  they  pass  by  me  as  the  idle  wind, 
Which  I  respect  not.    I  did  send  to  you 
For  certain  sums  of  gold,  which  you  denied  me  : 
For  I  can  raise  no  money  by  vile  means  :  15 

By  heaven,  I  had  rather  coin  my  heart, 
And  drop  my  blood  for  drachmas,  than  to  wring 
From  the  hard  hands  of  peasants  their  vile  trash 
By  any  indirection :    I  did  send 

To  you  for  gold  to  pay  my  legions,  20 

Which  you  denied  me  :  was  that  done  like  Cassius  ? 
Should  I  have  answered  Caius  Cassius  so  ? 
When  Marcus  Brutus  grows  so  covetous, 
To  lock  such  rascal  counters  from  his  friends, 


370 

Be  ready,  gods,  with  all  your  thunderbolts ; 
Dash  him  to  pieces  ! 

Cassius.  I  denied  you  not. 

Brutus.  You  did. 

Cassius.  I  did  not :  he  was  but  a  fool 

That  brought  my  answer  back.  —  Brutus  hath  rived  my 
heart : 
5  A  friend  should  bear  his  friend's  infirmities, 
But  Brutus  makes  mine  greater  than  they  are. 

Brutus.  I  do  not,  till  you  practice  them  on  me. 

Cassius.  You  love  me  noj:. 

Brutus.  I  do  not  like  your  faults. 

Cassius.  A  friendly  eye  could  never  see  such  faults. 
10      Brutus.  A  flatterer's  would  not,  though  they  do  appear 
As  huge  as  high  Olympus. 

Cassius.  Come,  Antony,  and  young  Octavius,  come, 
Revenge  yourselves  alone  on  Cassius, 
For  Cassius  is  aweary  of  the  world ; 
15  Hated  by  one  he  loves ;  braved  by  his  brother ; 
Checked  like  a  bondman ;  all  his  faults  observed, 
Set  in  a  note-book,  learned,  and  conned  by  rote, 
To  cast  into  my  teeth.    0,  I  Could  weep 
My  spirit  from  mine  eyes !    There  is  my  dagger, 
20  And  here  my  naked  breast ;  within,  a  heart 
Dearer  than  Plutus'  mine  ;  richer  than  gold  : 
If  that  thou  be'st  a  Roman,  take  it  forth ; 
I,  that  denied  thee  gold,  will  give  my  heart : 


371 


Strike,  as  thou  didst  at  Caesar ;  for,  I  know, 

When  thou  didst  hate  him  worst,  thou  lov'dst  him  better 

Than  ever  thou  lov'dst  Cassius. 

Brutus.  Sheathe  your  dagger : 

Be  angry  when  you  will,  it  shall  have  scope ; 


Do  what  you  will,  dishonor  shall  be  humor. 
0  Cassius,  you  are  yoked  with  a  lamb 
That  carries  anger  as  the  flint  bears  fire ; 
Who,  much  enforced,  shows  a  hasty  spark, 
And  straight  is  cold  again. 


372 

Cassius.  Hath  Cassius  lived 

To  be  but  mirth,  and  laughter  to  his  Brutus, 
When  grief,  and  blood  ill-tempered  vexeth  him  ? 

Brutus.  When  I  spoke  that,  I  was  ill-tempered  too. 
5       Cassius.  Do  you  confess  so  much  ?   Give  me  your  hand. 

Brutus.  And  my  heart  too. 

Cassius.  0  Brutus ! 

Brutus.  What 's  the  matter  ? 

Cassius.  Have  you  not  love  enough  to  bear  with  me, 
When  that  rash  humor  which  my  mother  gave  me 
Makes  me  forgetful  ? 

Brutus.  Yes,  Cassius  ;  and,,  from  henceforth, 

io  When  you  are  over-earnest  with  your  Brutus, 
He  '11  think  your  mother  chides,  and  leave  you  so. 

condemned  and  noted :  publicly  disgraced.  —  Lucius  Pella :  a  former 
Roman  official  to  whom  Brutus  had  given  considerable  authority.  —  pray- 
ing on  his  side:  pleading  in  his  behalf.  — slighted  off:  disregarded. — 
nice  :  petty,  small.  —  comment :  unfriendly  criticism.  —  condemned  to  have  : 
blamed  for  having.  —  an  itching  palm  :  greed  for  gold.  —  mart :  traffic  in. 

—  chastisement :  punishment.  —  ides  :  the  Romans  called  the  first  day  of 
each  month  "  kalends  "  ;  the  fifth  was  known  as  the  "  nones"  except  in 
March,  May,  July,  and  October,  when  the  nones  fell  on  the  seventh  ;  while 
the  "  ides  "  were  eight  days  later  than  the  nones. —  what  villain  :  who  of 
us  was  such  a  villain go  to  :  an  expression  of  impatience,  like  our  collo- 
quial phrase  Get  out !  —  choler  :   anger.  —  testy  :  fretful.  —  venom  of  your 

spleen  :  poison  of  your  anger vaunting  :  boasting.  —  drachma  (drak'ma) : 

a  silver  coin.  —  indirection  :  crooked  methods.  —  to  lock  :  as  to  lock.  — 
rascal  counters  :  worthless  coins.  —  rived  (rivd)  :  torn.  —  Olympus  :  "  the 
heaven-kissing  hill  "  on  which  the  gods  were  supposed  to  live.. —  braved  : 
defied. — conned  by  rote:   learned  by  heart. — Plutus :  the  god  of  riches. 

—  humor:  a  passing  mood. — much  enforced  :  sharply  struck. — straight: 
immediately.  — rash  humor  :  quick  temper. 


373 

IN  THE  ICE  PACK  — I 

Norman  Duncan 

Norman  Duncan  (1871-  ),  professor  of  rhetoric  in  Washington 
and  Jefferson  College,  is  of  Canadian  birth.  He  has  written  interesting 
sketches  of  the  Newfoundland  and  Labrador  coasts. 

At  break  of  day  the  schooner  was  still  fast  in  the  grip 
of  the  floe  and  driving  southwest  with  the  gale.    Then  the    5 
thin  light,  flowing  through  a  rent  at  the  horizon,  spread 
itself  over  a  sea  all  dull  white  and  heaving,  an  expanse 
of  ice,  shattered  and  ground  to  bits,  which  rose  and  fell 
with  the  waves.    There  was  a  confusion  of  savage  noises, 
each  proceeding  from  the  fury  and  dire  stress  of  conflict;  10 
far  aloft,  where  every  shivering  rope  and  spar  opposed  the 
will  of  the  wind,  the  gale  howled  its  wrath  as  it  split  and 
swept  on,  and  below  decks  the  timbers  cried  out  under  the 
pressure  and  cruel  grinding  of  the  ice ;  but  these  were  as 
a  whimper  to  a  scream  in  the  sum  of  uproar  ;  it  was  the  15 
rending  and  crashing  and  crunching  of  the  wind-driven 
floe,  this  thing  of  mass  immense,  plunging  on  as  under  the 
whip  of  a  master,  which  filled  all  the  vast  world  with  noise. 

The  light  increased ;  it  disclosed  the  faces  of  men  to 
men  —  frozen  cheeks,  steaming  mouths,  beards  weighted  20 
with  icicles,  eyes  flaring  in  dark  pits.    It  disclosed  the  lit- 
tered decks,  the  grimy  deck  house  and  galley,  the  wrecked 
bowsprit,  the  abandoned  wheel,  the  rigging  sheathed  with 


374 

ice,  and  beyond,  as  it  pushed  its  way  into  the  uttermost 
shadows,  the  solid  shape  of  Deadly  Rock  and  the  Blueblack 
Shoal  lying  in  the  path  of  the  wind. 

The  men  had  gathered  with  the  skipper  by  the  windlass 

5  to  wait  for  the  morning,  and  they  had  been  on  the  watch 
the  night  long. 

u  See  the  Blueblack,  dead  ahead  ?  "  the  skipper  bawled, 

for  the  confusion  of  ice  and  wind  overwhelmed  his  voice. 

They  followed  the  direction  of  his  arm,  from  the  tip  of 

10  his  frozen  mit  to  the  nearing  shoal,  where  the  sea  was 
grinding  the  ice  to  slush.  Death,  it  might  be,  confronted 
them,  but  they  said  nothing.  The  schooner  was  in  the 
grip  of  the  pack,  which  the  wind,  not  their  will,  controlled. 
There  was  nothing  to  be  done,  no  call  upon  strength  or 

15  understanding.  Why  talk  ?  So  they  waited  to  see  what 
the  wind  would  do  with  the  pack. 

The  shoal  lay  dead  ahead  in  the  path  of  the  schooner's 
drift.  In  every  part  of  it  waves  shook  themselves  free  of 
ice  and  leaped  high  into  the  wind  —  all  white  and  frothy 

20  against  the  sky,which  was  of  the  drear  color  of  lead.  The 
rocks  stuck  out  of  the  sea  like  iron  teeth.  They  were  as 
nothing  before  the  momentum  of  the  pack,  no  hindrance 
to  its  slow,  heavy  onrush.  The  ice  scraped  over  and 
between   them,  and  with   the  help   of  the  waves   they 

25  ground  it  up  in  the  passage. 

"  Sure,  men,"  said  the  skipper,  "  't  is  barbarous  hard  to 
lose  the  schooner." 


375 

He  looked  her  over  from  stem  to  stern  —  along  her 
shapely  rail,  and  aloft,  over  the  detail  of  her  rigging.  His 
glance  lingered  here  and  there  —  lingered  wistfully.  She 
was  his  life's  achievement ;  he  had  builded  her. 

"  Yes,  skipper,   sir,  sure  it  is,"  said  Saul  Nash.    He    5 
lurched   to  the  skipper's   side  and   put  a   hand  on   his 
shoulder.  * 

Just  then  Saul's  young  brother  John  approached  the 
group.     He    was  a    slight,  brown-eyed   boy,  with    small 
measure  of  the  bone  and  hard  flesh  of  his  mates.    Saul  10 
moved  under  the    foremast   shrouds   and  beckoned  him 
over. 

"  John,  boy,"  the  man  said  in  a  tender  whisper,  u  keep 
alongside  of  me  when  —  when —    Come,"  bursting  into 
forced  heartiness,  "  there  's  a  good  lad,  now ;  keep  along-  15 
side  o'  me." 

John  caught  his  breath.  u  Yes,  Saul,"  he  whispered. 
Then  he  had  to  moisten  his  lips.  "  Yes,  I  will,"  he  added, 
quite  steadily. 

The  swift,  upward  glance  —  the  quivering  glance,  dart-  20 
ing  from  the  depths  —  betrayed  the  boy  again.    He  was 
one  of  those  poor,  dreamful  folk  who  fear  the  sea.    It 
may  be  that  Saul  loved  him  for  that  —  for  that  strange 
difference. 

It  began  to  snow,  not  in  feathery  flakes,  silent  and  25 
soft,  but  the  whizzing  dust  of  flakes,  which  eddied  and 
ran  with  the  wind  in  blasts  that  stung.    The  snow  came 


376 

sweeping  from  the  northeast  in  a  thick,  gray  cloud.  It 
engulfed  the  ship.  The  writhing  ice  round  about  and  the 
shoal  were  soon  covered  up  and  hidden.  Eyes  were  no 
longer  of  any  use  in  the  watching ;  but  the  skipper's  ears 
5  told  him,  from  moment  to  moment,  that  the  shoal  was 
nearer  than  it  had  been.  Most  of  the  crew  went  below  to 
get  warm  while  there  was  yet  time,  that  they  might  be 
warm,  warm  and  supple,  in  the  crisis.  Also  they  ate  their 
fill  of  pork  and  biscuit  and  drank  their  fill  of  water,  being 

10  wise  in  the  ways  of  the  ice.  Some  took  off  their  jackets, 
to  give  their  arms  freer  play  in  the  coming  fight  ;  some 
tightened  their  belts  ;  some  filled  their  pockets  with  the 
things  they  loved  most ;  all  made  ready.  Then  they  sat 
down  to  wait ;  and  the  waiting,  in  that  sweltering,  pitch- 

15  ing  hole,  with  its  shadows  and  flickering  light,  was  voice- 
less and  fidgety. 

It  was  the  brewing  time  of  panic.  Each  watched  the 
other  as  if  that  other  sought  to  wrest  some  advantage 
from  him.    Such  was  the  temper  of  the  men  that  when 

20  the  skipper  roared  for  all  hands,  there  was  a  rush  for  the 
ladder  and  a  scuffle  for  place  at  the  foot  of  it.  The  old 
man  was  up  on  the  port  rail  with  the  snow  curling  about 
him.  He  had  a  grip  of  the  mainmast  shrouds  to  stay 
himself   against  the  wind  and  the  lunging  of  the  ship. 

25  The  thud  and  swish  of  waves  falling  back  and  the 
din  of  grinding  ice  broke  from  the  depths  of  the  snow 
over  the  bow  —  from  some  place  near  and  hidden  —  and 


377 

/ 
the  gale  was  roaring  past.    The  men  crowded  closer  to 

hear  him. 

"  'T  is  time  to  take  to  the  ice,"  he  cried. 

Young  John  Nash  was  in  the  shelter  of  Saul's  great 
body ;  he  was  touching  the  skirt  of  the  man's  coat  like  a  5 
child  in  a  crowd.  He  looked  from  the  skipper's  face  and 
from  the  deck  to  the  waste  of  pitching  ice  and  to  the 
cloudy  wall  of  snow  which  shut  it  in.  Then  he  laid  hold 
of  a  fold  in  the  coat,  which  he  had  but  touched  before, 
and  crept  a  little  closer.  10 

IN  THE  ICE  PACK  — II 

The  schooner  was  low  with  her  weight  of  seal  fat.  It 
was  but  a  short  leap  to  the  pack  in  which  she  was  caught 
—  at  most,  but  a  swinging  drop  from  the  rail.  That  was 
all ;  even  so,  as  the  crew  went  over  the  side  the  shadow 
of  the  great  terror  fell  —  fell  as  from  a  cloud  approaching.  15 
There  was  a  rush  to  be  clear  of  this  doomed  thing  of 
wood,  to  be  first  in  the  way  of  escape,  though  the  end 
of  the  untraveled  path  was  a  shadow;  so  there  was  a 
crowding  at  the  rail,  an  outcry,  a  snarl,  and  the  sound 
of  a  blow.  The  note  of  human  frenzy  was  struck  —  a  20 
clangorous  note,  breaking  harshly  even  into  the  mighty 
rage  of  things  overhead  and  roundabout  ;  and  it  clanged 
again,  in  a  threat  and  a  death  cry,  as  the  men  gained 
footing  on  the  pack  and  pushed  out  from  the  schooner 
in  the  wake  of  Saul  Nash.  25 


378 

The  ice  was  no  more  than  a  crust  of  fragments  which 
the  wind  kept  herded  close,  and  it  rose  and  fell  with  the 
long,  low  heave  of  the  waves.  Save  upon  a  few  scattered 
pans,  which  had  resisted  the  grinding  of  the  pack,  there 
5  was  no  place  where  a  man  could  rest  his  foot ;  for  where 
he  set  it  down,  there  it  sank.  He  must  leap  —  leap  —  leap 
—  from  one  sinking  fragment  to  another,  choosing  in  a 
flash  where  next  to  alight,  or  the  pack  would  let  him 
through  and  close  over  his  head. 

10  Moreover,  the  wind  swept  across  the  pack  with  full 
force  and  a  stinging  touch,  and  it  was  filled  with  the  dust 
of  snow;  a  wind  which  froze  and  choked  and  blinded 
where  it  could. 

"  We  '11  wait  here,"  said  Saul,  between  convulsive  pants, 

15  when  with  John  and  old  Bill  Anderson  he  had  come  to 

rest  on  a  small  pan.    He  turned  his  back  to  the  wind  to 

catch  his  breath.    "  We  '11  clear  the  shoal  here,"  he  added. 

Then  a  hush  fell  upon  the  ice,  a  hush  that  deepened 

and  spread,  and  soon  left  only  the  swish  of  the  gale  and 

20  the  muffled  roar  of  the  shoal.    The  driving  force  of  the 
wind  had  somewhere  been  mysteriously  counteracted.   The 
pressure  was  withdrawn.    The  pack  was  free.    It  would 
swerve  outward  from  the  Blueblack  Shoal. 
"  Back,  men  !    She  '11  go  clear  of  the  shoal !  " 

25  That  was  the  skipper.  They  could  see  him  standing 
with  his  back  to  the  gale  and  his  hands  to  his  mouth. 
Beyond,  in  the  midst  of  snow,  the  schooner  lay  tossing. 


379 

The  pack  thinned  and  fell  away  into  its  fragments.  The 
way  back  was  vanishing,  even  the  sinking  way  over  which 
they  had  come. 

It  was  then  perceived  that  the  schooner  was  drifting 
faster  than  the  pack  through  which  she  was  pushing.  As  5 
the  ice  fell  away  before  her,  her  speed  increased.  The 
crew  swerved  to  head  her  off.  When  Saul  and  John  came 
to  that  one  patch  of  loose  ice  where  the  rail  was  within 
reach,  a  crowd  of  seven  was  congested  there,  and  with 
brute  unreason  they  were  fighting  for  the  first  grip.   .  .  .  10 

The  schooner  was  drifting  faster.  The  loosened  pack 
divided  before  her  prows.  She  was  scraping  through  the 
ice,  leaving  it  behind  her,  faster  and  faster  yet.  The  blind 
crowd  amidships  plunged  along  with  her,  all  the  while 
losing  something  of  their  position.  15 

u  Steady,  John,  boy !  "  said  Saul.  "  Forward  there, 
under  the  quarter !  " 

"  Yes,  Saul.    Oh,  make  haste  !  " 

In  a  moment  they  were  under  the  forward  quarter, 
standing  firm  on  a  narrow  pan  of  ice,  waiting  for  the  drift  20 
of  the  schooner  to  bring  the  rail  within  reach.  When 
that  time  came,  Saul  caught  the  lad*  in  his  arms  and  lifted 
him  high.  But  even  as  John  drew  himself  up,  a  hand  was 
raised  to  catch  his  foot.  Saul  struck  at  the  arm.  Then 
the  fight  was  upon  him.  A  man  clambered  on  his  back.  25 
He  felt  his  foothold  sinking,  tipping,  sinking.  The  rest 
trampled  over  them.    Before  they  could  recover  and  make 


380 

good  their  footing,  the  ship  had  drifted  past.  They  were 
cut  off  from  her  by  the  open  water  in  her  wake.  She 
slipped  away  like  a  shadow,  vaguer  grew,  and  vanished 
in  the  swirling  snow.  But  Saul  knew  that  John  was 
5  aboard  and  would  come  safe  to  Ragged  Harbor.  .  .  . 
Saul  gathered  his  strength  to  continue  the  fight,  to 
meet  the  stress  and  terrors  of  the  hours  to  come.  Soon 
the  seas  came  with  new  venom  and  might ;  they  were 
charged  with  broken  ice  which  added  weight  and  terror  to 

10  the  waves.  They  bruised  and  dazed  and  sorely  hurt  the 
man  when  they  fell  upon  him.  No  wave  came  but  carried 
jagged  chunks  of  ice,  some  great  and  some  small.  Saul 
shielded  his  head  with  his  arms.  He  was  struck  on  the 
legs  and  on  the  left  side,  and  once  he  was  struck  on  the 

15  breast  and  knocked  down.  Again,  after  a  time  —  it  may 
now  have  been  three  hours  before  midnight  —  other  greater 
waves  came.  They  broke  over  his  head..  They  cast  their 
weight  of  ice  upon  him.  There  seemed  to  be  no  end  to 
their  number.     Once   Saul,   rising  from  where  they  had 

20  beaten  him,  rising  doggedly  to  face  them  again,  found 
that  his  right  arm  was  powerless.  He  tried  to  lift  it,  but 
could  not.  He  felt  a  bone  grate  over  a  bone  in  his  shoulder, 
and  a  stab  of  pain.  So  he  shielded  his  head  from  the  ice 
in  the  next  wave  with  his  left  arm,  and  thus  it  went  on 

25  in  diminishing  degree  for  fifteen  hours  longer. 

The  folk  of  Neighborly  Cove  say  that  when  the  wind 
once   more  herded  the  pack  and  drove  it  inshore,  Saul 


381 

Nash,  being  alone,  made  his  way  across  four  miles  of  loose 
ice  to  the  home  of  Abraham  Coachman,  where  they  had 
corn  meal  for  dinner  ;  but  Saul  has  forgotten  all  that 
befell  him  after  the  sea  struck  him  on  the  shoulder,  —  the 
things  of  the  whirling  night,  of  the  lagging  dawn,  when  5 
the  snow  thinned  and  ceased,  and  of  the  gray,  frowning 
day,  when  the  waves  left  him  in  peace.  A  crooked  shoulder 
and  a  broad  scar  tell  him  that  the  fight  was  hard.  But 
what  matter  ?  Notwithstanding  all,  when  next  the  sea 
baited  its  traps  with  swarming  herds,  he  set  forth  with  10 
John,  his  brother,  to  the  hunt  ;  for  the  world  which  lies 
hidden  in  the  wide  beyond  has  some  strange  need  of  seal 
fat.  and  stands  ready  to  pay,  as  of  course.    What  matter 

—  all  this  toil  and  peril  —  when  the  strength  of  a  man 
provides  so  bounteously  that  his  children  may  pass  their  15 
plates  for  more  ?    What  matter  —  in  the  end  ?    Ease  is  a 
shame,  and,  for  truth,  old  age  holds  nothing  for  any  man 
save  a  seat  in  a  corner  and  the  sound  of  voices  drifting  in. 

Abridged  from  The  Way  of  the  Sea 

floe  :  a  low,  flat  mass  of  floating  ice.  —  galley  :  the  kitchen  of  a  vessel. 

—  pack :  a  large  area  of  floating  ice  driven  more  or  less  closely  together. 

—  shrouds  :  ropes  which  support  the  mast.  —  port :  left,  as  opposed  to 
starboard,  right.  —  lunging  :  plunging,  leaping.  —  clangorous  (cl&n'ger  us)  : 
ringing.  —  pans :   large  blocks  of  floating  ice.  —  quarter :   the  side  of  a 

1  between  the  middle  portion  and  the  stern.  —  swarming  herds  :  herds 
of  seal  which  visit  the  Newfoundland  and  Labrador  coast  each  year  in 
great  numbers.  —  What  matter,  etc. :  these  reflections  are  those  of  the 
seal  hunter,  whose  daily  food  depends  upon  his  courage  to  meet  such 
hardships. 


382 
A  LOST  REVENGE 

Walter  Scott 

Note.  The  following  pages  are  dramatized  from  a  chapter  of  Quentin 
Durward.  Louis  XI  of  France,  after  crafty  attempts  to  extend  his  power, 
has  become,  through  superstitious  confidence  in  his  "lucky  stars,"  the 
prisoner  of  his  dreaded  vassal,  Charles,  Duke  of  Burgundy.  The  king  has 
5  been  allowed  to  retain  a  few  of  his  followers  ;  these  consist  of  a  member 
of  his  Scottish  guard,  named  Balafre\  his  provost  Tristan,  with  two  as- 
sistants, and  the  famous  astrologer  Galeotti,  whom  Louis  begins  to  distrust. 

Scene.  A  small,  dreary  room,  scantily  furnished  and  hung  with 
ragged  tapestry.     Louis  is  seated ;  Balafre  stands  before  him  in  a 
10  soldierly  attitude  of  attention. 

Louis.  My  good  soldier,  thou  hast  served  me  long 
and  hast  had  little  promotion.  We  are  here  in  a  case 
where  I  may  either  live  or  die,  but  I  would  not  die  an 
ungrateful  man,  or  leave  either  a  friend  or  an  enemy  un- 

15  recompensed.  Now,  I  have  a  friend  that  is  to  be  rewarded, 
that  is  thyself  ;  an  enemy  to  be  punished  according  to 
his  deserts,  and  that  is  the  base,  treacherous  villain,  Mar- 
tius  Galeotti,  who  by  his  impostures  and  specious  false- 
hoods has  trained  me  hither  into  the  power  of  my  mortal 

20  enemy  with  the  firm  purpose  of  my  destruction . 

Balafre.  I  will  challenge  him  on  that  quarrel,  since  they 
say  he  is  a  fighting  blade,  though  he  looks  somewhat  un- 
wieldy. I  doubt  not  but  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  will  allow 
us  a  fair  field;  and  if  your  Majesty  live  so  long  and  enjoy 

25  so  much  freedom,  you  shall  behold  me  do  battle  in  your 


383 

right,  and  take  as  proper  a  vengeance  on  this  philosopher 
as  your  heart  could  desire. 

Louis.  I  commend  your  bravery  and  your  devotion  to  my 
service  ;  but  this  treacherous  villain  is  a  stout  man  at  arms, 
and  I  would  not  willingly  risk  thy  life,  my  brave  soldier.    5 

Balafre.  I  were  no  brave  soldier,  may  it  please  your 
Majesty,  if  I  dared  not  face  a  better  man  than  he. 

Louis.  Nevertheless  it  is  not  our  pleasure  so  to  put  thee 
in  venture,  Balafre.    This  traitor  comes  hither,  summoned 
by  our  command.    We  would  have  thee,  so  soon  as  thou  10 
canst  find  occasion,  smite  him  under  the  fifth  rib.    Dost 
thou  understand  me"? 

Balafre.  Truly  I  do,  but,  if  it  please  your  Majesty,  this 
is  a  matter  entirely  out  of  my  course  of  practice.  I  could 
not  kill  you  a  dog  unless  it  were  in  hot  assault  or  such  like.  15 

Louis.  Why,  surely  thou  dost  not  pretend  to  tenderness 
of  heart !  thou  who  hast  been  first  in  storm  and  siege. 

Balafre.  My  lord,  I  have  neither  feared  nor  spared  your 
enemies.  God  pity  us  poor  soldiers  who  are  first  driven 
mad  with  danger,  and  then  madder  with  victory !  But  20 
what  your  Majesty  purposes  is  out  of  my  course  of  prac- 
tice, though  I  will  never  deny'  that  it  has  been  wide 
enough.  As  for  the  astrologer,  if  he  be  a  traitor  let  him  die 
a  traitor's  death ;  I  will  neither  meddle  nor  make  with  it. 
Your  Majesty  has  your  provost  and  two  of  his  men  without,  25 
who  are  more  fit  for  dealing  with  him  than  is  a  Scottish 
gentleman  of  my  family  and  standing  in  the  service. 


384 

♦ 

Louis.  You  say  well,  but  at  least  it  belongs  to  thy  duty 
to  prevent  interruption,  and  to  guard  the  execution  of  my 
most  just  sentence. 

Balafre.  I  will  do  so  faithfully.  Your  Majesty  need  not 
5  doubt  my  fealty  in  that  which  I  can  reconcile  to  my  con- 
science, which,  for  mine  own  convenience  and  the  service 
of  your  Royal  Majesty,  I  can  vouch  to  be  a  pretty  large 
one  ;  at  least,  I  know  I  have  done  some  deeds  for  your 
Majesty  which  I  would  rather  have  eaten  a  handful  of  my 
10  own  dagger  than  have  done  for  any  one  else. 

Louis.   Let  that  rest,  and  hear  you,  when  Galeotti  is 

admitted  and  the  door  shut  on  him,  do  you  stand  guard 

at  the  entrance.    Let  no  one  intrude ;  that  is  all  I  require 

of  you.    Go  hence  and  send  the  provost  marshal  to  me. 

Exit  Balafre 
Enter  Tristan 

15      Louis.    Welcome,  gossip  !    What  thinkest  thou  of  our 
situation  ? 

Tristan.  As  of  men  sentenced  to  death,  unless  there 
come  a  reprieve  from  the  duke. 

Louis.  Reprieved  or  not,  he  that  decoyed  us  into  this 
20  snare  shall  go  ahead  of  us  to  the  next  world  to  take  up 
our  lodgings.     Tristan,  thou  hast  done  many  an  act  of 
brave  justice  —  thou  must  stand  by  me  to  the  end. 

Tristan.  I  will,  my  liege.    I  am. a  plain  fellow,  but  I  am 

grateful.  I  will  do  my  duty  within  these  walls  or  elsewhere, 

25  and  your  sentence  shall  be  as  literally  executed  as  when 


385 

you  sat  upon  your  throne.     They  may  deal  with  me  the 
next  hour  for  it  if  they  will ;  I  care  not. 

Louis.  It  is  even  what  I  expected  of  thee,  my  gossip. 
But  hast  thou  good  assistance  ?  The  traitor  is  strong  and 
able-bodied  and  will  doubtless  be  clamorous  for  aid.  The  5 
Scot  will  do  naught  but  keep  the  door,  and  it  is  well  that 
he  can  be  brought  to  that  by  flattery  and  humoring.  Have 
you  men  and  means  to  make  sharp  and  sure  work  ? 

Tristan.  I  have  with  me  two  assistants  so  expert  in 
their  office  that  out  of  three  men  they  would  hang  up  one  10 
ere  his  companions  were  aware.  But  what  is  to  be  our 
present  subject,  if  it  please  your  Majesty  ?  I  like  to  be 
sure  of  my  man,  for,  as  your  Majesty  is  pleased  sometimes 
to  remind  me,  I  have  now  and  then  mistaken  the  crimi- 
nal and  strung  up  in  his  place  an  honest  laborer  who  had  15 
given  your  Majesty  no  offense. 

Louis.  Most  true.    Know  then,  Tristan,  the  condemned 
person  is  Martius  Galeotti.    You  start,  but  it  is  even  as  I 
say.    The  villain  hath  trained  us  all  hither  by  his  false- 
hoods, that  he  might  put  us  into  the  hands  of  the  Duke  20 
of  Burgundy. 

Tristan.  But  not  without  vengeance.    Would  you  have 
it  done  in  your  presence,  my  gracious  liege  ? 

Louis.    Nay;    but  I  will  see  the  villain  once  more,  to 
observe  how  he  bears  himself  toward  the  master  whom  he  25 
has  led  into  the  toils.    Why  do  you  tarry?   Go  get  your 
grooms   ready.    I  expect  the  villain  instantly.    Begone, 


386 

Tristan ;   thou  wert  not  wont  to  be  so  slow  when  busi- 
ness was  to  be  done. 

Tristan.  On  the  contrary,  may  it  please  your  Majesty, 
you  were  ever  wont  to  say  that  I  was  too  fast  and  inis- 
5  took  your  purpose.    Now  please  your  Majesty  to  give  me 
a  sign  when  you  part  with  Galeotti,  whether  the  business 
goes  on  or  no.    I  have  known  your  Majesty  once  or  twice 
to  change  your  mind  and  to  blame  me  for  overdispatch. 
Louis.  Thou  suspicious  creature !  I  tell  thee  I  will  not 
10  change  my  mind ;  but,  to  silence  thy  remonstrance,  observe: 
If  I  say  to  the  knave  at  parting,  "  There  is  a  heaven  above 
us ! "  then  let  the  business  go  on  ;  but  if  I  say,  "  Go  in 
peace !  "  you  will  understand  that  my  purpose  is  altered. 
Tristan.  My  head  is  somewhat  of  the  dullest  out  of  my 
15  own  department.    Stay,  let  me  rehearse :  If  you  bid  him 
depart  in  peace,  am  I  to  have  him  dealt  upon  ? 

Louis.  No,  no,  idiot,  no !  in  that  case  you  let  him  pass 
free.     But  if  I  say,  u  There  is  a  heaven  above  us !  "  up 
with  him  a  yard  or  two  nearer  the  planets  he  is  so  con- 
20  versant  with.  Exit  Tristan 

Enter  Galeotti 

Galeotti.  Every  good  planet  be  gracious  to  your  Maj- 
esty !  Every  evil  constellation  withhold  its  influence  from 
my  royal  master ! 

Louis.  Methinks  when  you  look  around  this  apartment, 

25  when  you  think  where  it  is  situated  and  how  guarded, 

your  wisdom  might  consider  that  my  propitious  stars  had 


387 

proved  faithless,  and  that  evil  conjunction  had  already 
done  its  worst.  Art  thou  not  ashamed,  Martius  Galeotti, 
to  see  me  here  and  a  prisoner,  when  you  recollect  by  what 
assurances  I  was  lured  hither  ? 

Galeotti.  And  art  thou  not  ashamed,  my  royal  sire,  to   5 
turn  from  the  first  frown  of  fortune,  like  a  craven  from 
the  first  clash  of  arms  ?    Dost  thou  shrink  from  the  first 
pressure  of  adversity,  frightened  out  of  the  course,  like  a 
scared  racer,  by  shadowy  and  unreal  evils  ? 

Louis.  Shadowy  and  unreal !  frontless  as  thou  art  !    Is  10 
this  dungeon  unreal  ?  the  weapons  of  my  guards,  which 
you   may   hear   clash  at  the  gate,   are   these   shadows  ? 
What,  traitor,  are  real  evils,  if  imprisonment,  dethrone- 
ment, and  danger  to  life  are  not  so  ? 

Galeotti.  Ignorance,  ignorance,  my  brother,  and  preju-  15 
dice  are  the  only  real  evils.  Believe  me,  that  kings  in  the 
plenitude  of  power,  if  immersed  in  ignorance  and. preju- 
dice, are  less  free  than  sages  in  a  dungeon  and  loaded  with 
material  chains.  Toward  this  true  happiness  it  is  mine  to 
guide  you  ;  be  it  yours  to  attend  to  my  instructions.  20 

Louis.  And  it  is  to  such  freedom  that  your  lessons 
would  have  guided  me !  I  wish  you  had  told  me  that  the 
dominion  promised  me  so  liberally  was  an  empire  over  my 
own  passions.  I  might  surely  have  attained  this  mental 
ascendancy  at  a  more  moderate  price  than  that  of  forfeit-  25 
ing  the  fairest  crown  in  Christendom.  Go,  sir,  and  think 
not  to  escape  punishment.    There  is  a  heaven  above  us  ! 


388 

Galeotti.  I  leave  you  not  to  your  fate  until  I  have  vin- 
dicated even  in  your  eyes,  darkened  as  they  are,  that 
reputation,   a  brighter    gem    than    the    brightest   in  thy 
crown,  at  which  the  world  shall  wonder  ages  after  all 
5  the  race  of  Capet  are  moldered  into  oblivion. 


Louis.  Speak  on  ;  thine  impudence  cannot  make  me 
change  my  purposes  or  my  opinion.  Confess  that  I  am 
a  dupe,  thou  an  impostor,  thy  pretended  science  a  dream, 
and  the  planets  which  shine  above  us  as  little  influential 
io  of  our  destiny  as  their  shadows,  when  reflected  in  the 
river,  are  capable  of  altering  its  course. 


389 

Galeotti.  How  knowest  thou  the  secret  influence  of 
yonder  blessed  lights?  Even  the  weakest,  the  moon, 
holds  under  her  domination  not  such  poor"  streams  as 
the  Somme,  but  the  tides  of  the  mighty  ocean  itself.  .  .  . 
The  end  is  not  yet.  Thine  own  tongue  shall  erelong  con-  5 
fess  the  benefit  which  thou  hast  already  received  from 
the  favorable  conjunction  of  the  planets. 

Louis.  This  is  too  —  too  insolent,  at  once  to  deceive 
and  to  insult !  Hence,  and  think  not  my  wrongs  shall 
be  unavenged.  There  is  a  heaven  above  us !  Yet  stop !  10 
Thou  bearest  thine  imposture  bravely  out.  Let  me  hear 
your  answer  to  one  question,  and  think  ere  you  speak. 
Can  thy  pretended  skill  ascertain  the  hour  of  thine  own 
death  ? 

Galeotti.  Only  by  referring  to  the  fate  of  another.  15 

Louis.  I  understand  not  thine  answer. 

Galeotti.  Know  then,  0  king,  that  this  only  can  I  tell 
with  certainty  concerning  mine  own  death,  that  it  shall 
take  place  exactly  twenty-four  hours  before  that  of  your 
Majesty.  20 

Louis.  Ha  !  sayest  thou  so  ?  Hold  —  hold,  go  not,  wait 
one  moment.  Martins  Galeotti,  I  have  been  a  kind  master 
to  thee,  enriched  thee,  made  thee  my  friend,  my  com- 
panion, and  my  instructor.  Be  open  with  me.  Is  there 
aught  in  this  art  of  yours  ?  And  is  the  measure  of  our  25 
lives  so  very,  very  nearly  matched?  Confess,  my  good 
Martius,  you  speak  after  the  trick  of  your  trade.    Confess, 


390 

I  pray  you,  and  you  shall  have  no  displeasure  at  my  hand. 
I  am  in  years,  a  prisoner,  likely  to  be  deprived  of  a  king- 
dom; to  one  in  my  condition  truth  is  worth  kingdoms, 
and  it  is  to  thee,  dearest  Martius,  that  I  must  look  for 
5  this  inestimable  jewel. 

Galeotti.  And  I  have  laid  it  before  your  Majesty  at  the 
risk  that  in  brutal  passion  you  might  turn  upon  me  and 
rend  me. 

Louis.    Who,  I,   Galeotti  ?    Alas,  thou  mistakest  me. 
10  Am  I  not  captive,  and  should  I  not  be  patient  ?    Tell  me, 
then,  in  sincerity,  have  you  fooled  me,  or  is  your  science 
true? 

Galeotti.    Your  Majesty  will  forgive  me  if  I  reply  to 
you  that  time  only,  time  and  the  event,  will  convince 
15  incredulity.    A  day  or  two  days  will  prove  or  disprove 
what  I  have  averred.    I  wish  your  Majesty  good  rest. 

Louis.  To-morrow  we  will  talk  more  of  this.  Go  in 
peace,  my  learned  father,  go  in  peace,  go  in  peace  ! 

Louis  XI :  an  able  but  unscrupulous  king  of  France  in  the  fifteenth 
century.  —  Balafre*  (balafra). — provost  (pro  vo')  :  a  military  official  in 
charge  of  prisoners.  —  Galeotti  (ga  la  St'ti)  :  an  Italian  philosopher.  — 
astrologer :  one  who  pretends  to  foretell  events  from  the  appearance  of  the 
stars  and  planets.  —  trained  :  enticed,  coaxed.  —  blade  :  fellow.  —  man  at 
arms :  a  soldier  fully  armed.  —  meddle  nor  make :  an  old  English  phrase 

meaning  "to  interfere."  —  fealty  (fe/alt5T):  loyalty gossip:  comrade 

conversant :  well  acquainted propitious  :  favorable.  —  conjunction  :  the 

close  relation  of  two  planets  or  of  a  planet  and  a  star.  —  frontless  :  imper- 
tinent. —  Ca'pet :  the  royal  family  to  which  Louis  belonged.  —  Somme 
(som)  :  a  river  of  northern  France.  —  in  years  :  growing  old.  —  rend  : 
destroy.    The  reference  here  is  to  Matthew  vii.  6. 


391 


HECTOR  AND  ANDROMACHE 

Translated  from  Homer  by  William  Cullen  Bryant 

Xote.  Homer  is  one  of  the  greatest  names  in  the  World's  literature. 
To  him  we  owe  the  great  epics,  the  Iliad  and  the  Odyssey.  He  lived  sev- 
eral hundred  years  before  the  Christian  era,  and  it  was  not  until  long  after 
his  death  that  his  poems  were  put  into  writing.  Tradition  represents  him 
as  a  blind  minstrel,  wandering  about  Greece  and  Asia  Minor  and  telling  5 
to  the  music  of  his  lyre  the  wonderful  deeds  of  his  country's  heroes. 

The  long  poem  of  the  Iliad  deals  with  the  events  of  the  Trojan  War, 
which  is  supposed  to  have  taken  place  many  years  before  the  time  of  Homer. 
The  war  had  continued  for  nine  years  without  decisive  result,  when  a 
quarrel  arose  between  Achilles  and  Agamemnon,  two  of  the  Greek  leaders.  10 
Achilles  sulked  in  his  tent  and  refused  to  fight.  Here  the  poem  of  the 
Iliad  begins.  The  following  lines  are  from  Book  VI  and  describe  the  fare- 
well meeting  of  Hector,  the  Trojan  prince,  and  his  wife  Andromache. 
Troy  has  been  hotly  besieged  and  Hector  has  returned  to  the  city  to  ar- 
range for  an  appeal  to  Minerva  in  its  behalf.  Before  he  goes  back  to  the  15 
field  he  seeks  his  wife  Andromache. 

She  came  attended  by  a  maid,  who  bore 

A  tender  child  —  a  babe  too  young  to  speak  — 

Upon  her  bosom,  —  Hector's  only  son, 

Beautiful  as  a  star,  whom  Hector  called  20 

Scamandrius,  but  all  else  Astyanax,  — 

The  city's  lord,  —  since  Hector  stood  the  sole 

Defense  of  Troy.    The  father  on  his  child 

Looked  with  a  silent  smile.    Andromache 

Pressed  to  his  side  meanwhile,  and  all  in  tears,         25 

Clung  to  his  hand,  and  thus  beginning,  said :  — 


392 

"  Too  brave  !  thy  valor  yet  will  cause  thy  death. 
Thou  hast  no  pity  on  thy  tender  child, 
Nor  me,  unhappy  one,  who  soon  must  be 
Thy  widow.    All  the  Greeks  will  rush  on  thee 
5  To  take  thy  life.    A  happier  lot  were  mine, 

If  I  must  leave  thee,  to  go  down  to  earth, 
For  I  shall  have  no  hope  when  thou  art  gone,  — 
Nothing  but  sorrow.    Father  have  I  none, 
And  no  dear  mother.  .  .  . 

Hector,  thou 

10  Art  father  and  dear  mother  now  to  me, 

And  brother  and  my  youthful  spouse  besides. 
In  pity  keep  within  the  fortress  here, 
Nor  make  thy  child  an  orphan  nor  thy  wife 
A  widow.    Post  thine  army  near  the  place 

15  Of  the  wild  fig  tree,  where  the  city  walls 

Are  low  and  may  be  scaled.    Thrice  in  the  war 
The  boldest  of  the  foe  have  tried  the  spot.".  .  . 

Then  answered  Hector,  great  in  war,  "  All  this 
I  bear  in  mind,  dear  wife ;  but  I  should  stand 

20  Ashamed  before  the  men  and  long-robed  dames 

Of  Troy,  were  I  to  keep  aloof  and  shun 
The  conflict,  coward-like.    Not  thus  my  heart 
Prompts  me,  for  greatly  have  I  learned  to  dare 
And  strike  among  the  foremost  sons  of  Troy, 

25  Upholding  my  great  father's  fame  and  mine ; 

Yet  well  in  my  undoubting  mind  I  know 


393 

The  day  shall  come  in  which  our  sacred  Troy 

And  Priam,  and  the  people  over  whom 

Spear-bearing  Priam  rules,  shall  perish  all. 

But  not  the  sorrows  of  the  Trojan  race, 

Nor  those  of  Hecuba  herself,  nor  those  5 

Of  royal  Priam,  nor  the  woes  that  wait 

My  brothers  many  and  brave,  —  who  all  at  last, 

Slain  by  the  pitiless  foe,  shall  lie  in  dust,  — 

Grieve  me  so  much  as  thine,  when  some  mailed  Greek 

Shall  lead  thee  weeping  hence,  and  take  from  thee  10 

Thy  day  of  freedom.    Thou  in  Argos  then 

Shalt,  at  another's  bidding,  ply  the  loom, 

And  from  the  fountain  of  Messeis  draw 

Water,  or  from  the  Hyperian  spring, 

Constrained  unwilling  by  thy  cruel  lot.  15 

And  then  shall  some  one  say  who  sees  thee  weep, 

'  This  was  the  wife  of  Hector,  most  renowned 

Of  the  horse-taming  Trojans,  when  they  fought 

Around  their  city.'    So  shall  some  one  say, 

And  thou  shalt  grieve  the  more,  lamenting  him  20 

"Who  haply  might  have  kept  afar  the  day 

Of  thy  captivity.    Oh,  let  the  earth 

Be  heaped  above  my  head  in  death  before 

I  hear  thy  cries  as  thou  art  borne  away ! 

So  speaking,  mighty  Hector  stretched  his  arms  25 

To  take  the  boy ;   the  boy  shrank  crying  back 
To  his  fair  nurse's  bosom,  scared  to  see 


394 

His  father  helmeted  in  glittering  brass, 
And  eying  with  affright  the  horsehair  plume 
That  grimly  nodded  from  the  lofty  crest. 
At  this  both  parents  in  their  fondness  laughed ; 
5  And  hastily  the  mighty  Hector  took 

The  helmet  from  his  brow  and  laid  it  down 
Gleaming  upon  the  ground,  and  having  kissed 
His  darling  son  and  tossed  him  up  in  play, 
Prayed  thus  to  Jove  and  all  the  gods  of  heaven  : 

10  "  0  Jupiter  and  all  ye  deities, 

Vouchsafe  that  this  my  son  may  yet  become 

Among  the  Trojans  eminent  like  me, 

And  nobly  rule  in  Ilium.    May  they  say, 

'  This  man  is  greater  than  his  father  was  ! '  .  .  . 

15  That  so  his  mother  may  be  glad  at  heart." 

So  speaking,  to  the  arms  of  his  dear  spouse 
He  gave  the  boy ;  she  on  her  fragrant  breast 
Received  him,  weeping  as  she  smiled.    The  chief 
Beheld,  and,  moved  with  tender  pity,  smoothed 

20  Her  forehead  gently  with  his  hand  and  said  :  — 

'  "  Sorrow  not  thus,  beloved  one,  for  me. 
No  living  man  can  send  me  to  the  shades 
Before  my  time  ;  no  man  of  woman  born, 
Coward  or  brave,  can  shun  his  destiny. 

25  But  go  thou  home  and  tend  thy  labors  there,  — 

The  web,  the  distaff,  —  and  command  thy  maids 
To  speed  the  work.    The  cares  of  war  pertain 


395 


To  all  men  born  in  Troy,  and  most  to  me." 
Thus  speaking,  mighty  Hector  took  again 
His  helmet,  shadowed  with  the  horsehair  plume, 
While  homeward  his  beloved  consort  went, 
Oft  looking  back  and  shedding  many  tears. 


Hector :  son  of  Priam,  king  of  Troy.  — Andromache  (an  drom'a  ke)  :  the 
wife  of  Hector.  —  Odyssey  (od'Is  sy)  :  the  story  of  Odysseus  (6  dTs'us),  or 
Ulysses,  a  wise  leader  of  the  Greeks.  — Achilles  (a  kll'es)  and  Agamemnon 
(&g  a  mem'nOn)  :  two  of  the  Greek  warriors. — Troy:  an  ancient  city  of 
Asia  Minor.  —  an  appeal  to  Minerva :  the  whole  story  of  the  Iliad  turns 
upon  the  intervention  of  the  gods  in  human  affairs.  Minerva  Mas  the 
goddess  of  wisdom  and  of  war.  —  Scamandrius  (sea  man'dri  us),  or  Asty'- 

anax :  the  son  of  Hector.  —  to  go  down  to  earth :  to  die Hecuba  (hek'u  ba) : 

the  wife  of  Priam. — mailed:  clad  in  armor. — Argos  (ar'gos)  :  a  city  of 
Greece  near  Thessaly.  It  was  part  of  the  region  over  which  the  father  of 
Achilles  was  king.  There  was  another  and  more  famous  Argos  farther  south. 
—  Messe'is  and  the  Hyperian  (hip  e  ri'an)  spring :  two  springs  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  the  northern  Argos.  — Jove  :  the  chief  of  the  gods,  also  known 
as  Zeus  (zfis)  and  Jupiter.  —  Ilium  (lit  um) :  the  Greek  name  for  Troy. 


396 


THE  DEPARTURE  OF  TELEMACHUS 


Retold  from  Homer's  Odyssey 

Note.  The  Odyssey  tells  of  the  adventures  of  Odysseus,  or  Ulysses,  on 
his  way  home  from  the  Trojan  War,  and  of  the  search  for  him  by  his  son 
Telemachus.  Pallas  Athene's  pity  has  been  stirred  by  the  sufferings  of 
Odysseus.  Disguised  as  an  elderly  man,  she  goes  to  Ithaca  and  rouses  his 
5  son  to  set  forth  in  search  of  him.  She  finds  the  youth  greatly  distressed 
by  the  crowd  of  suitors  who  throng  his  mother's  house,  and  who  have 
succeeded  in  convincing  him  that  his  father  will  never  return.  Athene 
tells  him  that  a  ship  is  waiting  for  him  if  he  will  undertake  the  journey. 
In  his  heart  Telemachus  recognizes  the  goddess  and  consents  to  go. 
10  The  following  lines  are  not  a  close  translation,  but  a  metrical  abridg- 
ment of  the  opening  of  the  story. 

Now  sank  the  sun  and  all  the  ways  grew  dark. 
Clear-eyed  Athene  moored  the  waiting  ship 
Close  by  the  harbor's  mouth.    Then  sped  she  swift 
15        And,  having  lulled  the  suitors  with  sweet  sleep, 
Thus  spake  she  to  discreet  Telemachus : 
"  Come,  let  us  go.    There  is  no  time  to  waste. 
Your  comrades  all  are  ready  at  the  oar." 


397 


She  led  the  way  and  at  the  vessel's  stern 

She  took  her  seat,  while  many  willing  hands 

Bound  the  straight  mast  and  tightened  the  white  sail. 

So  through  the  night  the  black  ship  kept  her  way, 

The  singing  west  wind  ever  at  her  heels,  5 

And  when  the  sun  once  more  had  climbed  the  sky, 

They  came  to  Pylos,  Neleus'  citadel, 

Where,  grouped  upon  the  shore,  the  townsfolk  stood 

And  offered  up  their  bounteous  sacrifice 

To  lord  Poseidon,  ruler  of  the  sea.  10 

Then  spake  the  clear-eyed  goddess  to  the  lad  : 

"  No  shyness  now !    The  time  for  that  is  gone. 

Go  straight  to  Nestor  yonder ;  there  he  sits. 

Ask  him  yourself  to  tell  the  simple  truth 

For  honesty  and  candor  dwell  in  him."  15 

Then  answered  her  discreet  Telemachus : 

"  How  can  I  importune  a  great  man  thus  ? 

Will  he  not  think  me  overbold  and  rude  ? 

In  subtleties  of  speech  I  am  not  bred." 

"  Fear  not,"  the  goddess  said,  "  for  you  will  find  20 

Some  heaven-sent  promptings  when  you  come  to  speak." 

So  saying  they  set  forth  to  meet  their  hosts 

Who  welcomed  them  with  eager,  friendly  hands, 

And  gave  them  food  and  drink  in  courteous  wise. 

This  done  the  ancient  Nestor  thus  began :  25 


398 

"  Strangers,  since  now  ye  are  with  food  refreshed, 
Where  do  ye  come  from  ?   Whither  do  ye  go  ? 
Are  ye  upon  some  urgent  errand  sent  ? 
Or  do  ye  rove  at  pleasure  o'er  these  seas  ?  " 

5  Then  answered  him  discreet  Telemachus  : 

"  0  Nestor,  son  of  Neleus,  honored  sage ! 
From  Ithaca  we  come  some  word  to  seek 
Of  my  lamented  father,  who,  men  say, 
Fought  side  by  side  with  you  in  days  gone  by. 

10  For  none  can  tell  us  where  Odysseus  died, 

Whether  he  was  o'erwhelmed  on  land  or  sea. 
I  beg  you  tell  me  freely  what  you  know, 
Nor  let  your  pity  hide  from  me  the  truth. " 

Then  answered  him  the  great  Gerenian  knight : 
15  "0  youth,  what  woes  we  suffered  in  those  days  — 

Those  years  of  fighting  in  the  Trojan  land ! 

Yet  still  your  royal  father  brought  us  through, 

And  always  in  our  thoughts  we  two  agreed. 

But  not  in  safety  did  all  reach  their  homes, 
20  For  bitter  strife  arose  among  us  there. 

Half  of  the  host  held  back  and  would  not  sail, 

I,  with  my  ships,  pressed  onward,  fearing  ill. 

And  so,  dear  lad,  in  ignorance  I  came, 

Having  no  news  of  those  we  left  behind. 
25  Go,  visit  Menelaus.    He  may  know, 

For  he  is  lately  come  from  distant  lands 


399 

And  from  that  vast  and  fearful  unknown  sea. 
Ask  him  yourself  to  tell  the  simple  truth, 
For  honesty  and  candor  dwell  in  him." 

When  he  had  ceased  Athene  answered  him : 

"  0  Sire,  these  words  of  yours  are  fitly  said ;  5 

But  now  the  fading  day  has  turned  to  night 

And  it  is  time  that  we  should  seek  our  rest." 

Then  did  iUhene  and  the  youthful  prince 

Set  off  together  for  their  hollow  ship, 

But  Nestor  chided  them  reproachfully :  io 

u  Am  I  a  man  who  owns  no  goods  nor  gear  ? 

Have  I  not  rugs  and  robes  enough  at  home 

To  make  you  warm  and  comfortable  there  ? 

And  shall  the  son  of  great  Odysseus  lie 

On  a  ship's  deck,  while  I  am  housed  in  ease  ?  .  15 

Then  said  the  goddess  to  him  graciously : 

"  Well  have  you  said,  and  surely  it  is  meet 

That  prince  Telemachus  should  heed  your  words. 

He,  then,  will  sleep  to-night  within  your  halls. 

But  as  for  me  I  go  to  the  black  ship  20 

And  tell  my  men  their  duties,  for  I  am 

The  only  man  of  years  among  them  all." 

But  even  as  she  spake  the  goddess  changed 
Her  form,  and  they  beheld  a  great  sea  bird 
Who  passed  into  the  night.   Awe  fell  on  all.  25 


400 

The  old  man  marveled  as  he  gazed,  and  cried, 
"  It  was  none  other  than  Athene's  self ! 
Dear  child,  you  must  not  fail  in  strength  of  heart, 
Since  at  your  age  the  gods  become  your  guides." 

Telem'achus  :  the  son  of  Odysseus.  —  Pallas  Athene  (a  the'ne)  :  the  god- 
dess of  wisdom  ;  Minerva.  —  Ithaca  :  a  rocky  island,  the  home  of  Odysseus. 
—  Pylos  (pi'los)  :  a  city  on  the  western  coast  of  Greece,  built  by  Neleus 
(ne'liis),  who  was  said  to  be  the  grandson  of  Poseidon  (posi'dSn)  or 
Neptune,  the  god  of  the  ocean.  —  Nestor :  the  wise  old  counselor  of  the 
Greeks.  —  Gere'nian :  a  native  of  Gerenia,  a  Grecian  city.  —  Menela'us  : 
one  of  the  Greek  leaders.  The  Trojan  War  was  fought  because  his  wife 
Helen  had  been  carried  off  by  a  Trojan  prince.  —  gear :  property. 

TO  A  SKYLARK 

William  Wordsworth 

5  Ethereal  minstrel !  pilgrim  of  the  sky  ! 

Dost  thou  despise  the  earth  where  cares  abound  ? 

Or,  while  the  wings  aspire,  are  heart  and  eye 

Both  with  thy  nest  upon  the  dewy  ground  ? 

Thy  nest  which  thou  canst  drop  into  at  will, 
10  Those  quivering  wings  composed,  that  music  still ! 

Leave  to -the  nightingale  her  shady  wood  ; 
A  privacy  of  glorious  light  is  thine ; 
Whence  thou  dost  pour  upon  the  world  a  flood 
Of  harmony,  with  instinct  more  divine ; 
15  Type  of  the  wise  who  soar,  but  never  roam ; 

True  to  the  kindred  points  of  Heaven  and  Home ! 


401 
THE  BEGINNINGS  OF  TENNESSEE 

Theodore  Roosevelt 

Theodore  Roosevelt  (ros'e  velt)  was  born  in  1858  in  New  York  City. 
As  governor  of  his  native  state  and  as  President  he  has  proved  himself  a 
man  of  vigorous  personality,  high  ideals,  and  a  wide  range  of  interests. 

In  1709,  the  year  that  Boon  first  went  to  Kentucky, 
the  first  permanent  settlers  came  to  the  banks  of  the  5 
Watauga,  the  settlement  being  merely  an  enlargement  of 
one  in  Virginia.  At  first  the  settlers  thought  that  they 
were  still  in  the  domain  of  Virginia,  for  at  that  time  the 
line  marking  her  southern  boundary  had  not  been  run  so 
far  west.  Indeed,  had  they  not  considered  the  land  as  10 
belonging  to  Virginia  they  would  probably  not  at  the 
moment  have  dared  to  intrude  farther  on  territory  claimed 
by  the  Indians. 

In  1771,  one  of  the  newcomers,  who  was  a  practical 
surveyor,  discovered  that  the  Watauga  settlement  came  15 
within  the  limits  of  North  Carolina.  Hitherto  the  settlers 
had  supposed  that  they  were  governed  by  the  Virgin- 
ian law,  and  that  their  rights  as  against  the  Indians 
were  guaranteed  by  the  Virginian  government ;  but  this 
discovery  threw  them  back  upon  their  own  resources.  20 
They  suddenly  found  themselves  obliged  to  organize  a 
civil  government  under  which  they  themselves  should 
live,  and  at  the  same  time  to  enter  into  a  treaty  on  their 


402 

own  account  with  the  neighboring  Indians,  to  whom  the 
land  they  were  on  apparently  belonged. 

The  first  need  was  even  more  pressing  than  the  second. 
North  Carolina  was  a  turbulent  and  disorderly  colony, 
5  unable  to  enforce  law  and  justice  even  in  the  long-settled 
districts ;  so  that  it  was  wholly  out  of  the  question  to 
appeal  to  her  for  aid  in  governing  a  remote  and  outlying 
community.  Moreover,  about  the  time  the  Watauga  com- 
monwealth was  founded  the  troubles  in  North  Carolina 

10  came  to  a  head.  Open  war  ensued  between  the  adher- 
ents of  the  royal  governor,  Tryon,  on  the  one  hand  and 
the  Regulators,  as  the  insurgents  styled  themselves,  on 
the  other,  the  struggle  ending  with  the  overthrow  of  the 
Regulators  at  the  battle  of  the  Alamance. 

15  As  a  consequence  of  these  troubles  many  people  from 
the  back  counties  of  North  Carolina  crossed  the  moun- 
tains and  took  up  their  abode  among  the  Watauga  pio- 
neers. Among  the  first  comers  were  many  members  of 
the  class  of  desperate  adventurers  always  to  be  found 

20  hanging  round  the  outskirts  of  frontier  civilization.  But 
the  bulk  of  the  settlers  were  men  of  sterling  worth,  fit 
to  be  the  pioneer  fathers  of  a  mighty  and  beautiful  state. 
They  possessed  the  courage  that  enabled  them  to  defy 
outside  foes,  together  with  the  rough,  practical  common 

25  sense  that  allowed  them  to  establish  a  simple  but  effec- 
tive form  of  government,  so  as  to  preserve  order  among 
themselves. 


403 

To  succeed  in  the  wilderness  it  was  necessary  to  possess 
not  only  daring  but  also  patience  and  the  capacity  to  en- 
dure grinding  toil.  The  pioneers  were  hunters  and  hus- 
bandmen. Each,  by  the  aid  of  ax  and  brand,  cleared  his 
patch  of  corn  land  in  the  forest,  close  to  some  clear,  swift-  5 
flowing  stream,  and  by  his  skill  with  the  rifle  won  from 
canebrake  and  woodland  the  game  on  which  his  family 
lived  until  the  first  crop  was  grown. 

A  few  of  the  more  reckless  lived  entirely  by  themselves, 
but  as  a  rule  each  knot  of  settlers  was  gathered  together  10 
into  a  little  stockaded  hamlet,  called  a  fort  or  station. 
This  system  of  defensive  villages  was  distinctive  of  pio- 
neer backwoods  life  and  was  unique  of  its  kind ;  without 
it  the  settlement  of  the  West  and  Southwest  would  have 
been  indefinitely  postponed.    In  no  other  way  could  the  15 
settlers  have  combined  for  defense,  while  yet  retaining 
their  individual  ownership  of  the  lands.    The  Watauga 
forts  or  palisaded  villages  were  of  the  usual  kind,  the 
cabins  and  blockhouses  connected  by  a  heavy,  loopholed 
picket.     They  were  admirably  adapted  for  defense  with  20 
the    rifle,  and   they  offered   a   haven  of   refuge   to   the 
settlers  in  case  of  an  Indian  inroad.    In  time  of  peace 
the  inhabitants  moved  out,  to  live  in  their  isolated  log 
cabins   and    till   the    stump-dotted    clearings.    Trails   led 
through  the   dark  forests  from  one   station  to   another,  25 
as  well  as  to  the  settled  districts  beyond  the  mountains ; 
and  at  long  intervals  men  drove  along  them  bands  of 


404 

pack  horses,  laden  with  the  few  indispensable  necessaries 
the  settlers  could  not  procure  by  their  own  labor.  The 
pack  horse  was  the  first,  and  for  a  long  time  the  only, 
method  of  carrying  on  trade  in  the  backwoods,  and  the 

5  business  of  the  packer  was  one   of  the  leading  frontier 
industries. 

The  pioneers  worked  hard  and  hunted  hard  and  lived 
both  plainly  and  roughly.  Their  cabins  were  roofed  with 
clapboards  or  huge  shingles,  split  from  the  log  with  maul 

10  and  wedge  and  held  in  place  by  heavy  stones  or  by  poles ; 
the  floors  were  made  of  puncheons,  hewn  smooth  on  one 
surface ;  the  chimney  was  outside  the  hut,  made  of  rock 
when  possible,  otherwise  of  logs  thickly  plastered  with 
clay ;   the  unglazed  window  had  a  wooden  shutter,  and 

15  the  door  was  made  of  great  clapboards.  The  men  made 
their  own  harness,  farming  implements,  and  domestic 
utensils ;  and,  as  in  every  other  community  still  living  in 
the  heroic  age,  the  smith  was  a  person  of  the  utmost  im- 
portance.   There  was  but  one  thing  that  all  could  have  in 

20  any  quantity,  and  that  was  land ;  each  had  all  of  this  he 
wanted  for  the  taking,  or,  if  it  was  known  to  belong  to 
the  Indians,  he  got  its  use  for  a  few  trinkets  or  a  flask  of 
whisky.  The  corn  shuckings,  flax  pullings,  logrollings 
(when  the  felled  timber  was  rolled  off  the  clearings),  house 

25  raisings,  and  the  like  were  scenes  of  boisterous  and  light- 
hearted  merriment  to  which  the  whole  neighborhood  came, 
for  it  was  accounted  an  insult  if  a  man  were  not  asked  to 


405 

help  on  such  occasions,  and  none  but  a  base  churl  would 
refuse  his  assistance.  f 

Such  were  the  settlers  of  the  Watauga,  the  founders  of 
the  commonwealth  that  grew  into  the  state  of  Tennessee. 
They  were  the  first  Americans  who,  as  a  separate  body,    5 
moved  into  the  wilderness  to  hew  out  dwellings  for  them- 
selves and  their  children,  trusting  only  to  their  own  shrewd 
heads,  stout  hearts,  and  strong  arms,  unhelped  and  unham- 
pered by  the  power  nominally  their  sovereign.    They  built 
up   a   commonwealth   which  had  many  successors ;    they  10 
showed  that  the   frontiersmen  could   do  their  work  un- 
assisted; for  they  proved  that  they  were  made  of  stuff 
stern  enough  to  hold  its  own  against  outside  pressure  of 
any  sort.  .   .  .  The  TYatauga  settlers  outlined  in  advance 
the  nation's  work.    They  tamed  the  rugged  and  shaggy  15 
wilderness,  they  bid  defiance  to  outside  foes,  and  they  suc- 
cessfully solved  the  difficult  problem  of  self-government. 

Abridged  from  The  Winning  of  the  West 

Boon  :  Daniel  Boon  (or  Boone)  was  a  Pennsylvania  hunter  whose  zest 
for  the  wild  life  of  the  wilderness  led  to  the  settlement  of  Kentucky.  — 
Watau'ga  :  a  stream  in  eastern  Tennessee  which  is  a  tributary  of  the  Ten- 
nessee River.  —  Al'amance  :  a  creek  in  North  Carolina.  The  battle  was 
fought  in  1771.  —  brand:  a  blazing  piece  of  wood.  —  canebrake  :  a  thicket 
of  canes  or  plants  with  long,  smooth  stems.  —  stockaded:  protected  by 
a  stockade,  or  high  wooden  barrier.  —  blockhouse  :  a  house  fitted  to  serve 
as  a  fort. — maul:  a  heavy  wooden  hammer.  — puncheons:  split  logs  or 
heavy  slabs  of  wood,  smoothed  on  one  side. 


406 
THE  SURPRISE  OF  KASKASKIA 

Theodore  Roosevelt 

Note.  One  of  the  chief  of  the  backwoodsmen  was  George  Rogers 
Clark,  a  bold  and  ambitious  leader,  who  had  long  planned  the  conquest  of 
the  country  beyond  the  Ohio.  It  was  occupied  by  warlike  Indians,  ancient 
French  hamlets,  and  forts  garrisoned  by  the  British  king.  While  the 
5  Revolution  was  in  progress,  Clark  determined  to  capture  these  British 
posts  and  conquer  the  French  settlements,  thus  winning  the  whole  terri- 
tory for  the  new  federal  republic.  With  the  approval  of  Patrick  Henry, 
who  was  at  that  time  governor  of  Virginia,  Clark  raised  a  small  number 
of  troops,  about  one  hundred  and  fifty  in  all,  and  began  his  march. 

10  On  the  evening  of  the  Fourth  of  July,  1778,  they 
reached  the  river  Kaskaskia,  within  three  miles  of  the 
town  which  lay  on  the  farther  bank.  They  kept  in  the 
shadow  of  the  woods  until  it  grew  dusk,  and  then  marched 
silently  to  a  little  farm  a  mile  from  the  town.  The  f am- 
is ily  were  taken  prisoners,  and  from  them  Clark  learned  that 
some  days  before,  the  townspeople  had  been  alarmed  at 
the  rumor  of  a  possible  attack,  but  that  their  suspicions 
had  been  lulled  and  they  were  then  off  their  guard. 

Getting  boats  the  American  leader  ferried  his  men 
20  across  the  stream  under  cover  of  the  darkness  and  in 
profound  silence,  the  work  occupying  about  two  hours. 
He  then  approached  Kaskaskia  under  cover  of  the  night, 
dividing  his  force  into  two  divisions,  one  being  spread 
out  to  surround  the  town  so  that  none  might  escape, 
25  while  he  himself  led  the  other  up  to  the  walls  of  the  fort. 


40' 


Inside  the  fort  the  lights  were  lit,  and  through  the  win- 
dows came  the  sound  of  violins.  The  officers  of  the  post 
had  given  a  ball,  and  the  mirth-loving  young  men  and 
girls  were  dancing  within,  while  the  sentinels  had  left 
their  posts.  One  of  his  captives  showed  Clark  a  postern 
gate  by  the  riverside,  and  through  this  he  entered  the 
fort,  having  placed  his  men  round  about  at  the  entrance. 


Advancing  to  the  great  hall  where  the  revel  was  held,  he 
leaned  silently  with  folded  arms  against  the  doorpost, 
looking  at  the  dancers.  An  Indian,  lying  on  the  floor  of  10 
the  entry,  gazed  intently  on  the  stranger's  face,  as  the 
light  from  the  torches  within  flickered  across  it,  and 
suddenly  sprang  to  his  feet  uttering  the  unearthly  war 
whoop.  Instantly  the  dancing  ceased ;  the  women  screamed, 
while  the  men  ran  toward  the  door.  But  Clark,  standing  15 
unmoved  and  with  unchanged    face,  grimly  bade  them 


408 

continue  their  dancing,  but  to  remember  that  they  now 
danced  under  Virginia  and  not  Great  Britain.  At  the 
same  time  his  men  burst  into  the  fort  and  seized  the 
French  officers. 

5  Immediately  Clark  had  every  street  secured,  and  sent 
runners  through  the  town,  ordering  the  people  to  keep 
close  to  their  houses  on  pain  of  death ;  and  by  daylight 
he  had  them  all  disarmed.  The  backwoodsmen  patrolled 
the  town  in  little  squads,  while  the  French  in  silent  terror 

10  cowered  within  their  low-roofed  houses.  Clark  was  quite 
willing  that  they  should  fear  the  worst,  and  their  panic 
was  very  great.  The  mysterious  approach  and  sudden  on- 
slaught of  the  backwoodsmen,  their  wild  and  uncouth 
appearance,  and  the  ominous  silence  of  their  commander, 

15  all  combined  to  fill  the  French  with  fearful  forebodings 
for  their  future  fate. 

Next  morning  a  deputation  of  the  chief  men  waited 
upon  Clark,  and,  thinking  themselves  in  the  hands  of 
mere  brutal  barbarians,  all  they  dared  to  do  was  to  beg 

20  for  their  lives.  Now  came  Clark's  chance  for  his  winning 
stroke.  He  knew  it  was  hopeless  to  expect  his  little  band 
permanently  to  hold  down  a  much  more  numerous  hos- 
tile population;  he  wished  above  all  things  to  convert 
the  inhabitants   into  ardent  adherents  of  the   American 

25  government. 

So  he  explained  at  length  that  though  the  Americans 
came  as  conquerors,  yet  it  was  ever  their  principle  to  free, 


409 

not  to  enslave,  the  people  with  whom  they  came  in  con- 
tact. If  the  French  chose  to  become  loyal  citizens  and  to 
take  the  oath  of  fidelity  to  the  republic,  they  should  be 
welcomed  to  all  the  privileges  of  Americans ;  those  who 
did  not  so  choose  should  be  allowed  to  depart  from  the  5 
land  in  peace  with  their  families. 

The  mercurial  Creoles  who  listened  to  his  speech  passed 
rapidly  from  the  depth  of  despair  to  the  height  of  joy. 
Instead  of  bewailing  their  fate,  they  could  not  congratulate 
themselves  enough  upon  their  good  fortune,  and  returned  10 
in  noisy  joy  to  their  families. 

Clark  now  found  himself  in  a  position  of  the  utmost 

difficulty.    With  a  handful  of  unruly  backwoodsmen,  kept 

under  control  only  by  his  personal  influence,  he  had  to 

protect  and   govern  a  region  as  large  as  any  European  15 

kingdom.    Moreover,  he  had  to  keep  content  and  loyal  a 

population  of  alien  race,  creed,  and  language,  while  he 

held  his  own  against  the  British  and  against  numerous 

tribes  of  bloodthirsty  and  treacherous  Indians.    It  may  be 

doubted  if  there  was  another  man  in  the  West  who  pos-  20 

sessed  the  daring  and  resolution,  the  tact,  energy,  and 

executive  ability  necessary  for  the  solution  of  so  knotty 

a  series  of  problems. 

From  The  Winning  of  the  West 

Clark  :  a  Kentucky  pioneer  who  belongs  among  the  nation's  heroes.  — 
Kaskas'kia  :  a  river  and  town  in  Illinois.  — postern  (pos'tern)  gate  :  a  small 
gate  in  the  rear  of  a  building  or  enclosure.  —  mercu'rial :   changeable.  —    * 
Creoles  :    descendants  of  French  settlers.  —  held  his  own  :  held  his  ground. 


410 
THE  SIRENS 

Translated  from  Homer  by  George  H.  Palmer 

George  Herbert  Palmer  is  a  well-known  American  scholar.  The 
free  rhythm  of  his  translation  is  a  valuable  aid  in  conveying  to  the  mind 
the  spirit  of  Homer. 

Note.    Odysseus  is  telling  of  his  adventures  on  his  journey  home  from 
5  Troy.    The  great  sorceress,  Circe,  having  discovered  that  she  cannot  be- 
guile the  mind  of  the  wise  Greek  leader,  decides  to  help  him. 

"Even  as  she  spoke,  the  gold-throned  morning  came, 
and  np  the  island  the  heavenly  goddess  went  her  way; 
I  turned  me  toward  my  ship,  and  called  my  crew  to  come 

10  on  board  and  loose  the  cables.  Quickly  they  came,  took 
places  at  the  pins,  and  sitting  in  order  smote  the  foaming 
water  with  their  oars.  And  for  our  aid  behind  our  dark- 
bowed  ship  came  a  fair  wind  to  fill  our  sail,  a  welcome 
comrade,  sent  us  by  fair-haired  Circe,  the  mighty  goddess, 

15  human  of  speech.  When  we  had  done  our  work  at  the 
several  ropes  about  the  ship,  we  sat  us  down,  while  wind 
and  helmsman  kept  her  steady. 

"Now  to  my  men,  with  aching  heart,  I  said:  'My 
friends,  it  is  not  right  for  only  one  or  two  to  know  the 

20  oracles  which  Circe  told,  that  heavenly  goddess.  There- 
fore I  speak,  that,  knowing  all,  we  so  may  die,  or  fleeing 
death  and  doom,  we  may  escape.  She  warns  us  first 
against  the  marvelous  Sirens,  and  bids  us  flee  their  voice 
and  flowery  meadow.    Only  myself  she  bade  to  hear  their 


411 

song;  but  bind  me  with  galling  cords,  to  hold,  me  firm, 
upright  upon  the  mast-block,  —  round  it  let  the  rope  be 
wound.  And  if  I  should  entreat  you,  and  bid  you  set  me 
free,  thereat  with  still  more  fetters  bind  me  fast.' 

"  Thus  I,  relating  all  my  tale,  talked  with  my  comrades.    5 
Meanwhile  our  stanch  ship  swiftly  neared   the    Sirens' 
island  ;  a  fair  wind  swept  her  on.    On  a  sudden  the  wind 
ceased;    there  came  a  breathless  calm;    Heaven  hushed 
the  waves.    My  comrades,  rising,  furled  the  sail,  stowed 
it  on  board  the  hollow  ship,  then  sitting  at  their  oars  10 
whitened  the  water  with  the  polished  blades.    But  I  with 
my  sharp  sword  cut  a  great  cake  of  wax  into  small  bits, 
which  I  then  kneaded  in  my  sturdy  hands.    Soon  the  wax 
warmed,  forced  by  the  powerful  pressure  and  by  the  rays 
of  the  exalted  Sun,  the  lord  of  all.    Then  one  by  one  I  15 
stopped  the  ears  of  all  my  crew ;  and  on  the  deck  they 
bound  me  hand  and  foot,  upright  upon  the  mast-block, 
round   which  they  wound  the   rope ;    and   sitting  down 
they  smote  the  foaming  water  with  their  oars.    But  when 
we  were  as  far  away  as  one  can  call  and  driving  swiftly  20 
onward,  our  speeding  ship,  as  it  drew  near,  did  not  escape 
the    Sirens,   and   thus   they  lifted   up   their  penetrating 
voice : 

" '  Come  hither,  come,  Odysseus,  whom  all  praise,  great 
glory  of  the  Achasans !    Bring  in  your  ship  and  listen  to  25 
our  song.    For  none  has  ever  passed  us  in  a  black-hulled 
ship  till  from  our  lips  he  heard  ecstatic  song,  then  went 


412 


his  way  rejoicing  and  with  larger  knowledge.  For  we 
know  all  that  on  the  plain  of  Troy  Argives  and  Trojans 
suffered  at  the  gods'  behest ;  we  know  whatever  happens 
on  the  bounteous  earth.' 
5  "  So  spoke  they,  sending  forth  their  glorious  song,  and 
my  heart  longed  to  listen.  Knitting  my  brows,  I  signed 
my  men  to  set  me  free ;  but  bending  forward,  on  they 
rowed.  And  straightway  Perimedes  and  Eurylochus  arose 
and  laid  upon  me  still  more  cords  and  drew  them  tighter. 
10  Then,  after  passing  by,  when  we  could  hear  no  more  the 
Sirens'"  voice  nor  any  singing,  quickly  my  trusty  crew  re- 
moved the  wax  with  which  I  stopped  their  ears,  and  set 
me  free  from  bondage." 

Circe  (ser'se),  the  heavenly  goddess  :  Circe  was  an  enchantress,  from  whose 
devices  Odysseus  himself  had  hardly  escaped.  She  consented,  however,  at  his 
urgent  prayer,  to  speed  him  on  his  way.  —  oracles  :  wise  sayings,  difficult 
to  understand.  —  the  Sirens  :  three  sea-nymphs  whose  home  was  on  a  small 
island  near  Sicily.  They  enticed  sailors  ashore  by  their  singing,  and  then 
killed  them. — Achseans  (a  ke'ans)  :  the  Greeks. — Argives  (ar'jivs)  :  the 
most  powerful  of  the  Greek  tribes ;  hence,  a  name  often  used  for  the 
Greeks  in  general.  —  Perimedes  (p8r  I  me'dez)  and  Eurylochus  (u  r!T*6  kus)  : 
two  of  Odysseus'  companions. 


413 
THE  FLAG 

Denis   A.   McCarthy 

Denis  A.  McCarthy  is  a  poet  of  Irish  birth  who  is  a  loyal  and  patriotic 
American. 

Note.    The  following  are  the  closing  stanzas  of  a  poem  which  kindles 
devotion  to  high  ideals  of  citizenship. 

Symbol  of  hope  to  me  and  to  mine  and  to  all  who  aspire 

to  be  free,  5 

Ever  your  golden  stars  may  shine  from  the  east  to  the 

western  sea ; 
Ever  your  golden  stars  may  shine,  and  ever  your  stripes 

may  gleam, 
To  lead  us  on  from  the  deeds  we  do  to  the  greater  deeds 

that  we  dream. 

Here  is  our  love  to  you,  flag  of  the  free,  and  flag  of  the 

tried  and  true  ; 
Here  is  our  love  to  your  streaming  stripes  and  your  stars 

in  a  field  of  blue  ;  10 

Native  or  foreign,  we  're   children  all   of  the  land   over 

which  you  fly, 
And,  native  or  foreign,  we  love  the  land  for  which  it  were 

sweet  to  die. 


414 


A  JAPANESE  VILLAGE 


Isabella  L.  Bird 

Mrs.  Isabella  L.  Bird  Bishop  was  an  English  writer  and  philan- 
thropist who  spent  much  time  in  foreign  countries  and  published  several 
entertaining  volumes  of  travel.    The  following  pages  are  from  a  collec- 
tion of  her  letters  written  in  Japan.    Mrs.  Bishop  died  in  1904  at  the  age 
5  of  seventy-two. 

The  village  consists  of  about  three  hundred  houses  built 
along  three  roads.  Down  the  middle  of  each  road  runs  a 
rapid  stream  in  a  stone  channel,  and  this  gives  endless 


amusement  to  the  children,  especially  to  the  boys,  who 
10  devise  many  ingenious  models  and  mechanical  toys,  which 
are  put  in  motion  by  water  wheels. 

My  home  is  a  Japanese  idyl ;  there  is  nothing  within 
or  without  that  does  not  please  the  eye,  and  its  silence, 
musical  with  the  dash  of  water  and  the  twitter  of  birds, 


415 

is  refreshing.  It  is  a  simple  but  irregular  two-storied 
pavilion,  standing  on  a  stone-faced  terrace,  approached 
by  a  flight  of  stone  steps.  The  garden  is  well  laid  out, 
and  as  peonies  and  azaleas  are  now  in  bloom,  it  is  very 
bright.  The  gray  village  lies  on  the  other  side  of  the  5 
road,  and  beyond  it  are  high,  unbroken  hills. 

The  mistress  of  the  house  met  me  at  the  door  and 
divested  me  of  my  boots.  The  two  verandas  are  highly 
polished,  so  are  the  stairs  which  lead  to  my  room,  and 
the  mats  are  so  fine  and  white  that  I  almost  fear  to  walk  10 
on  them>  even  in  my  stockings.  The  whole  front  of  my 
house  is  composed  of  sliding  windows  with  panes  of  trans- 
lucent paper  instead  of  glass.  The  ceiling  is  of  light  wood 
crossed  by  bars  of  dark  wood.  The  panels  are  of  wrinkled 
sky-blue  paper  splashed  with  gold.  At  one  end  are  two  15 
alcoves  with  floors  of  polished  wood.  In  one  hangs  a 
painting  on  white  silk  of  a  blossoming  branch  of  a  cherry 
—  a  perfect  piece  of  art  which  fills  the  room  with  fresh- 
ness and  beauty.  A  spray  of  azalea  in  a  pure  white  vase 
and  a  single  iris  in  another  are  the  only  decorations.  The  20 
mats  are  very,  fine  and  white  ;  the  sole  piece  of  furniture 
is  a  folding  screen.  I  almost  wish  that  the  rooms  were  a 
little  less  exquisite,  for  I  am  in  constant  dread  of  spilling 
the  ink  or  tearing  the  paper  windows. 

Supper  came  up  on  a  zen,  or  small  table,  six  inches  high,  25 
of  old  gold  lacquer,  with  the  rice  in  a  lacquer  bowl,  and  a 
teapot  and  cup  of  fine  porcelain.    The  Japanese  are  great 


416 

tea  epicures,  and  the  best  tea,  drunk  by  those  who  can 
afford  it,  costs  thirteen  shillings  a  pound.  The  water  used 
for  tea  making  is  not  allowed  to  boil  and  must  rest  barely 
a  minute  on  the  leaves. 

5  The  people  here  rise  at  daylight,  fold  up  the  wadded 
quilts  on  and  under  which  they  have  slept,  and  put  them 
away  with  the  wooden  pillows  (much  like  stereoscopes  in 
shape,  with  rolls  of  paper  or  wadding  on  the  top),  sweep 
the  mats  carefully,  dust  all  the  woodwork  and  the  veran- 

10  das,  open  the  sliding  wooden  shutters  which  box  in  the 

whole  house  at  night,  and  throw  back  the  paper  windows. 

At  seven  in  the  morning  a  drum  beats  to  summon  the 

children  to  school.   The  school  apparatus  is  very  good,  and 

there  are  fine  maps  on  the  walls ;  but  the  children  looked 

15  very  uncomfortable  sitting  on  high  benches  in  front  of 
desks  instead  of  squatting,  native  fashion.  The  teacher 
made  very  free  use  of  the  blackboard  and  questioned  his 
pupils  with  much  rapidity.  The  best  answer  moved  its 
giver  to  the  head  of  the  class  as  with  us.    Obedience  is 

20  the  foundation  of  the  Japanese  social  order,  and  the 
teacher  has  no  trouble  in  securing  quietness,  attention, 
and  docility.  There  was  an  almost  painful  earnestness  in 
the  faces  which  pored  over  the  schoolbooks  ;  even  such  a 
rare  event  as  the  entrance  of  a  foreigner  failed  to  distract 

25  the  students. 

I  am  very  fond  of  Japanese  children.    1  have  never  yet 
heard  a  baby  cry  and  I  have  never  seen  a  child  troublesome 


417 

or  disobedient.  Filial  piety  is  the  leading  virtue  in  Japan, 
and  unquestioning  obedience  is  the  habit  of  centuries. 
I  admire  the  way  in  which  children  are  taught  to  be 
independent  in  their  amusements.  Part  of  the  home 
education  is  the  learning  of  the  rules  of  the  different  5 
games,  which  are  absolute.  When  there  is  a  doubt, 
instead  of  a  quarrelsome  suspension  of  the  game  the  de- 
cision of  a  senior  child  settles  the  matter.  I  usually  carry 
t'tmeats  with  me  and  give  them  to  the  children,  but  not 
one  has  ever  received  them  without  first  obtaining  per-  10 
mission  from  the  father  or  mother.  When  that  is  gained 
they  smile  and  bow  profoundly,  and  offer  the  sweetmeats 
to  those  present  before  eating  any  themselves.  .  .  . 

This  afternoon  has  been  fine  and  windy,  and  the  boys 
have  been  flying  kites  made  of  tough  paper  on  a  bamboo  15 
frame,  all  of  a  rectangular  shape,  some  of  them  five  feet 
square,  and  nearly  all  decorated  with  huge  faces  of  histor- 
ical heroes.    Some  of  them  have  a  humming  arrangement 
of  whalebone.    There  was  an  interesting  contest  between 
two  great  kites,  and  it  brought  out  the  whole  population.  20 
The  string  of  each  kite  for  thirty  feet  or  more  below  the 
frame  was  covered  with  pounded  glass,  and  for  two  hours 
each  kite-fighter  tried  to  get  his  kite  into  a  proper  posi- 
tion for  sawing  his  opponent's  string  in  two.    At  last  one 
was  successful  and  the  severed  kite  became  his  property,  25 
upon  which  victor  and  vanquished  exchanged  three  low 
bows.    The  boys  also  flew  their  kites  while  walking  on 


418 

stilts,  a  most  dexterous  performance  in  which  few  were 
able  to  take  part. 

After  dark  the  children  play  at  another  favorite  game 
in  the  house.  They  sit  in  a  circle  and  the  older  people 
5  look  on  eagerly.  This  game  of  Alphabet  Cards  is  played 
with  small  cards,  each  containing  a  proverb  or  a  picture. 
The  cards  are  dealt  to  all  the  players  in  turn  and  the 
children  appoint  one  of  their  number  to  be  the  reader. 
He  reads  a  proverb  from  his  cards  and  the  player  who 

10  has  the  picture  illustrating  it  calls  out.  The  one  who 
first  gets  rid  of  his  cards  is  the  winner.  The  game  was 
played  with  great  animation  and  rapidity,  but  with  the 
most  amusing  courtesy.  I  send  translations  of  some  of 
the  proverbs.    Is  it  not  strange  to  find  the  same  ideas 

15  gathered  up  into  similar  forms  in  Japan  as  in  England, 
and  cast  in  these  forms  at  a  date  when  our  ancestors 
were  clothed  in  paint  and  skins  ?  "  Speak  of  a  man  and 
his  shadow  appears."  "  A  tongue  of  three  inches  can  kill 
a  man  of  six  feet."    "  The  putting-off  man  sharpens  his 

20  arrows  when  he  sees  the  lion."  "  Disease  enters  by  the 
mouth."  "  The  doctor  can't  cure  himself."  "  There  are 
thorns  on  all  roses."    u  Thine  own  heart  makes  the  world." 

idyl:  a  poem,  especially  on  a  rural  subject,  written  in  a  delicate  and 
refined  style.  —  epicure :  one  whose  taste  in  eating  or  drinking  has  been 
cultivated.  —  thirteen  shillings  :  three  dollars  and  twelve  cents.  —  squatting  : 
the  Oriental  fashion  of  sitting,  not  on  raised  chairs,  but  on  the  heels  with 
the  knees  touching  the  floor. 


419 
THE  BURIAL  OF  SIR  JOHN  MOORE 

Charles  Wolfe 

Charles  Wolfe  (1791-1823)  was  an  Irish  clergyman  and  poet  whose 
lyrics  are  of  great  beauty. 

Xote.  In  1808  the  Spanish  people  rebelled  against  the  tyranny  of 
Xapoleon,  emperor  of  the  French,  and  England  sent  an  army  to  their 
aid.  The  English  troops  met  with  heavy  losses,  and  their  leader,  Sir  John  5 
Moore,  was  beating  a  hasty  retreat  to  the  sea,  when  the  French  overtook 
him  and  he  was  forced  to  fight.  The  French  were  defeated  at  every  point, 
but  Sir  John  was  killed  in  the  very  moment  of  victory.  His  body  was 
buried  in  a  garden  of  the  Spanish  seaport  Coruna  before  the  troops  em- 
barked for  England.  10 

The  following  poem  is  considered  one  of  the  finest  productions  of  its 
kind  in  the  English  language. 

Not  a  drum  was  heard,  not  a  funeral  note, 
As  his  corpse  to  the  rampart  we  hurried ; 

Not  a  soldier  discharged  his  farewell  shot  15 

O'er  the  grave  where  our  hero  we  buried. 

We  buried  him  darkly  at  dead  of  night, 

The  sods  with  our  bayonets  turning ; 
By  the  struggling  moonbeam's  misty  light, 

And  the  lantern  dimly  burning.  20 

No  useless  coffin  enclosed  his  breast, 

Not  in  sheet  nor  in  shroud  we  wound  him ; 

But  he  lay  like  a  warrior  taking  his  rest, 
With  his  martial  cloak  around  him. 


420 

Few  and  short  were  the  prayers  we  said, 

And  we  spoke  not  a  word  of  sorrow : 
But  we  steadfastly  gazed  on  the  face  that  was  dead, 

And  we  bitterly  thought  of  the  morrow. 

5  We  thought  as  we  hollowed  his  narrow  bed 
And  smoothed  down  his  lonely  pillow, 
That  the  foe  and  the  stranger  would  tread  o'er  his  head, 
And  we  far  away  on  the  billow  ! 

Lightly  they  '11  talk  of  the  spirit  that 's  gone, 
10      And  o'er  his  cold  ashes  upbraid  him,  — 
But  little  he  '11  reck,  if  they  let  him  sleep  on 
In  the  grave  where  a  Briton  has  laid  him. 

But  half  of  our  heavy  task  was  done 

When  the  clock  struck  the  hour  for  retiring ; 
15  And  we  heard  the  distant  and  random  gun 
That  the  foe  was  sullenly  firing. 

Slowly  and  sadly  we  laid  him  down, 

From  the  field  of  his  fame  fresh  and  gory ; 
We  carved  not  a  line,  and  we  raised  not  a  stone  — 
20      But  we  left  him  alone  with  his  glory. 

Coruna  (ko  roon'ya)  :  a  fortified  city  of  Spain.  —  reck :  care  ;  be  dis- 
turbed. We  frequently  use  the  word  reckless,  which,  however,  has  come  to 
mean  "extremely  careless"  and  even  "  desperate." 


421 
PHCENICIA 

William  Win* wood  Reade 

William  Winwood  Reade  (1839-1875)  was  aii  English  author  and 
traveler. 

There  was  a  time  when  the  waters  of  the  Mediterranean 
were  silent  and  bare  ;  when  nothing  disturbed  the  solitude 
of  that  blue  and  tideless  sea  but  the  weed  which  floated    5 
on  its  surface  and  the  gull  which  touched  it  with  its  wing. 

A  tribe  of  the  Canaanites,  or  people  of  the  plain,  driven 
hard  by  their  foes,  fled  over  the  Lebanon  mountains  and 
took  possession  of  a  narrow  strip  of  land,  shut  off  by  itself 
between  the  mountains  and  the  sea.  10 

The  agricultural  resources  of  the  little  country  were 
soon  outgrown,  and  the  Phoenicians  were  forced  to  gather 
a  harvest  from  the  water.  They  invented  the  fishing  line 
and  net ;  and  when  the  fish  could  no  longer  be  caught 
from  the  shore,  they  had  to  follow  them  out  to  sea  or  15 
starve.  They  hollowed  trunks  of  trees  with  ax  and  fire 
into  canoes ;  they  bound  logs  of  wood  together  to  form  a 
raft,  with  a  bush  stuck  in  it  for  a  sail.  The  Lebanon 
mountains  supplied  them  with  timber;  in  time  they  dis- 
covered how  to  make  boats  with  keels,  and  to  sheathe  20 
them  with  copper,  which  they  found  also  in  their  moun- 
tains. From  those  heights  of  Lebanon  the  island  of  Cyprus 
could  plainly  be  seen,  and  the  current  assisted  them  across. 


422 

They  colonized  the  island ;  it  supplied  them  with  pitch, 
timber,  copper,  and  hemp,  —  everything  that  was  required 
in  the  architecture  of  a  ship.  With  smacks  and  cutters  they 
followed  the  tunny  fish  in  their  migrations ;  they  disco v- 

5  ered  villages  on  other  coasts,  pillaged  them,  and  carried  off 
their  inhabitants  as  slaves.  Some  of  these,  when  they  had 
learned  the  language,  offered  to  pay  a  ransom  for  release ; 
the  arrangement  was  accomplished  under  oath,  and  pres- 
ents as  tokens  of  good  will  were  afterwards  exchanged. 

10  Each  party  was  pleased  to  obtain  something  which  his 
own  country  did  not  produce,  and  thus  arose  a  system  of 
barter  and  exchange. 

The  Phoenicians  from  fishermen  became   pirates,  and 
from  pirates,  traders;  from  simple  traders  they  became  also 

is  manufacturers.  Purple  was  always  the  fashionable  color  in 
the  East,  and  they  discovered  two  kinds  of  shellfish  which 
yielded  a  handsome  dye.  One  species  was  found  on  rocks, 
the  other  under  water.  When  the  supply  of  these  shellfish 
on  their  own  coast  was   exhausted,  they  obtained  them 

20  from  foreign  coasts,  and  as  the  shell  yielded  but  a  small 
quantity  of  fluid  and  was  inconvenient  to  transport,  they 
preferred  to  extract  the  dyeing  material  on  the  spot  where 
the  shells  were  found.  This  led  to  the  establishment  of 
factories,  and  permanent  settlements  were  made. 

25  Obtaining  wool  from  the  Arabs  and  other  shepherd 
tribes,  the  Phoenicians  manufactured  woven  goods  and 
dyed  them  with  such  skill  that  they  found  a  ready  market 


423 

in  Babylonia  and  Egypt.  In  this  manner  they  purchased 
from  those  countries  the  produce  and  manufactures  of  the 
East,  and  these  they  sold  at  a  great  profit  to  the  inhab- 
itants of  Europe. 

When  they  sailed  along  the  shores  of  that  savage  con-  5 
tinent  and  came  to  a  place  where  they  intended  to  trade, 
they  lighted  a  fire  to  attract  the  natives,  pitched  tents  on 
shore,  and  held  a  fair,  exhibiting  in  their  bazaar  the  toys 
and  trinkets  manufactured  at  Tyre  for  this  purpose,  with 
purple  robes  and  works  of  art  in  tinted  ivory  and  gold  for  10 
those  who,  like  the  Greeks,  were  more  advanced.  But  in 
the  best  trading  localities  the  factory  system  prevailed, 
and  their  establishments  were  planted  in  the  Grecian 
Archipelago  and  in  Greece  itself,  on  the  marshy  shores 
of  the  Black  Sea,  in  Italy,  Sicily,  Africa,  and  Spain.        15 

Then,  becoming  bolder  and  more  skillful,  they  would  no 
longer  be  imprisoned  within  their  landlocked  sea.  They 
sailed  out  through  the  Strait  of  Gibraltar  and  beheld 
the  awful  phenomenon  of  tides.  They  sailed  on  the  left 
hand  to  Morocco  for  ivory  and  gold  dust,  on  the  right  20 
hand  for  amber  and  tin  to  the  ice  creeks  of  the  Baltic 
and  the  foaming  waters  of  the  British  Isles.  They  also 
opened  up  an  inland  trade.  They  were  the  first  to  over- 
come the  exclusiveness  of  Egypt  and  were  permitted  to 
settle  in  Memphis  itself.  Their  caravan  routes  extended  25 
in  every  direction  toward  the  treasure  countries  of  the 
East.    Wandering  Arabs  were  their  sailors,  and  camels 


424 

were  their  ships.  They  made  voyages  by  sand,  more 
dangerous  than  those  by  sea,  to  Babylon,  to  Arabia 
Felix,  and  to  the  rainless  shores  of  the  Persian  Gulf. 
Phoenicia  itself  was  a  narrow,  undulating  plain  about  a 
5  hundred  miles  in  length  and  at  the  most  not  more  than  a 
morning's  ride  in  breadth.  It  was  walled  in  by  the  moun- 
tains on  the  north  and  east.  To  those  who  sailed  along 
the  coast  it  appeared  to  be  one  great  city  interspersed 
with  gardens  and  fields     On  the  lower  slopes  of  the  hills 

10  beyond  gleamed  the  green  vineyard  patches  and  the  villas 
of  the  merchants.  The  offing  was  whitened  with  sails, 
and  in  every  harbor  was  a  grove  of  masts.  But  it  was 
Tyre  which  of  all  the  cities  was  the  queen.  It  covered 
an  island  off  the  shore,  and  the  Greek  poet  Nonnus  has 

is  thus  described  the  mingling  around  it  of  the  sylvan  and 
marine:  "The  sailor  furrows  the  sea  with  his  oar,  and 
the  plowman  the  soil ;  the  lowing  of  oxen  and  the  singing 
of  birds  answer  the  deep  roar  of  the  main  ;  the  wood 
nymph  under  the  tall  trees  hears  the  voice  of  the  sea 

20  nymph  calling  to  her  from  the  waves  ;  the  breeze  from 
the  Lebanon,  while  it  cools  the  rustic  at  his  midday  labor, 
speeds  the  mariner  who  is  outward  bound." 

These  Canaanitish  men  are  fairly  entitled  to  our  grati- 
tude and  esteem,  for  they  taught  our  ancestors  to  read 

25  and  write.  That  the  alphabet  was  invented  by  the  Phoe- 
nicians is  improbable  in  the  extreme ;  but  it  is  certain 
that  they  introduced  it  into  Europe.    They  were  intent 


425 

only  on  making  money,  it  is  true ;  they  were  not  a  liter- 
ary or  an  artistic  people ;  they  spread  knowledge  by  acci- 
dent, like  birds  dropping  seeds.  But  they  were  gallant, 
hardy,  enterprising '  men.  Those  were  true  heroes  who 
first  sailed  through  the  sea  valley  of  Gibraltar  into  the  5 
vast  ocean  and  breasted  its  enormous  waves.  Their  un- 
ceasing activity  kept  the  world  alive.  They  offered  to 
every  country  something  which  it  did  not  possess.  They 
roused  the  savage  Britain  with  a  rag  of  scarlet  cloth. 
They  brought  to  the  satiated  Indian  prince  the  wines  10 
of  Syria  and  the  Grecian  isles  in  goblets  of  exquisitely 
painted  glass.  From  the  amber  gatherers  of  the  Baltic 
mud  to  the  nutmeg  growers  of  the  equatorial  groves,  from 
the  mulberry  plantations  of  the  Celestial  empire  to  the 
tin  mines  of  Cornwall  and  the  silver  mines  of  Spain,  emu-  is 
lation  was  excited,  new  wants  were  created,  whole  nations 
were  stimulated  to  industry  by  the  Phoenicians. 

Phoenicia  (fe  nlshl  a)  :  once  a  famous  country  of  the  East,  lying  along 
the  Mediterranean  Sea.  —  Canaanites  (ka'nan  Its)  :  Semitic  tribes  inhabit- 
ing Palestine  and  Syria.  The  date  of  their  settlement  of  Phoenicia  is  hid- 
den in  the  mists  of  the  earliest  history.  —  smacks  and  cutters  :  small  sailing 
vessels.  — tunny  fish  :  large  fish  of  the  mackerel  family.  —  Memphis  :  the 
ancient  imperial  city  of  Egypt.  —  Arabia  Felix :  the  southern  portion  of 
the  Arabian  peninsula.  —  Tyre  :  a  famous  city  of  antiquity.  It  was  settled 
previous  to  the  thirteenth  century  B.C.  and  was  at  the  height  of  its  power 
in  the  time  of  Solomon,  king  of  Israel.  —  sylvan:  relating  to  woods. — 
gal'lant :  brave.  When  accented  on  the  last  syllable  the  adjective  means 
"  courteous  to  ladies. " — amber :  the  pale  yellow,  translucent  resin  of  extinct 
trees,  used  in  making  beads,  etc.  —  mulberry  plantations  :  the  nursery  of  the 
silkworm.  —  Celestial  empire  :  China. 


426 

SAMSON 

John  Milton 

John  Milton  (1608-1674)  is  second  only  to  Shakespeare  in  the  great 

names  of  English  literature.     His  prose  is  scarcely  less  famous  than  his 

sonorous  verse.    Paradise  Lost  is  his  longest  and  most  ambitious  poem,  in 

which  his  whole  genius  found  expression.     "  We  find  in  it  the  noblest 

5  example  which  our  literature  affords  of  the  majesty  of  classic  form." 

Note.    The  following  lines  are  from   Samson  Agonistes   (ag  onls'tez). 
Samson,  a  hero  of  old  Hebrew  tradition,  was  taken  captive  by  his  ene- 
mies, the  Philistines,  who  put  out  his  eyes  and  kept  him  in  chains.    His 
prodigious  strength  enabled  him  to  work  his  revenge.    For  the  whole  story 
10  see  Judges  xvi.  4-30. 

(A  Hebrew  Messenger  speaks) 

Occasions  drew  me  early  to  this  city ; 
And,  as  the  gates  I  entered  with  sun-rise, 
The  morning  trumpets  festival  proclaimed 
Through  each  high  street.    Little  I  had  dispatched, 

15  When  all  abroad  was  rumored  that  this  day 

Samson  should  be  brought  forth,  to  show  the  people 
Proof  of  his  mighty  strength  in  feats  and  games. 

I  sorrowed  at  his  captive  state,  but  minded 
Not  to  be  absent  at  that  spectacle. 

20  The  building  was  a  spacious  theater, 

Half  round  on  two  main  pillars  vaulted  high, 
With  seats  where  all  the  lords,  and  each  degree 
Of  sort,  might  sit  in  order  to  behold ; 
The  other  side  was  open,  where  the  throng 


427 

On  banks  and  scaffolds  under  sky  might  stand : 
I  among  these  aloof  obscurely  stood. 

The  feast  and  noon  grew  high,  and  sacrifice 
Had  filled  their  hearts  with  mirth,  high  cheer,  and  wine, 
When  to  their  sports  they  turned.    Immediately  5 

Was  Samson  as  a  public  servant  brought, 
In  their  state  livery  clad :  before  him  pipes 
And  timbrels ;  on  each  side  went  armed  guards ; 
Both  horse  and  foot  before  him  and  behind, 
Archers  and  slingers,  cataphracts,  and  spears.  10 

At  sight  of  him  the  people  with  a  shout 
Rifted  the  air,  clamoring  their  god  with  praise, 
Who  had  made  their  dreadful  enemy  their  thrall. 
He  patient,  but  undaunted,  where  they  led  him, 
Came  to  the  place  ;  and  what  was  set  before  him,  15 

Which  without  help  of  eye  might  be  assayed, 
To  heave,  pull,  draw,  or  break,  he  still  performed 
All  with  incredible,  stupendous  force, 
None  daring  to  appear  antagonist. 

At  length,  for  intermission  sake,  they  led  him  20 

Between  the  pillars ;  he  his  guide  requested 
(For  so  from  such  as  nearer  stood  we  heard), 
As  over-tired,  to  let  him  lean  a  while 
With  both  his  arms  on  those  two  massy  pillars, 
That  to  the  arched  roof  gave  main  support.  25 

He,  unsuspicious,  led  him ;  which  when  Samson 
Felt  in  his  arms,  with  head  a  while  inclined, 


428 


And  eyes  fast  fixed,  he  stood,  as  one  who  prayed. 
Or  some  great  matter  in  his  mind  revolved : 


At  last,  with  head  erect,  thus  cried  aloud :  — 
"  Hitherto,  Lords,  what  your  commands  imposed 
6  I  have  performed,  as  reason  was,  obeying, 


429 

Not  without  wouder  or  delight  beheld ; 
Now,  of  my  own  accord,  such  other  trial 
I  mean  to  show  you  of  my  strength  yet  greater 
As  with  amaze  shall  strike  all  who  behold." 

This  uttered,  straining  all  his  nerves,  he  bowed ;  5 

As  with  the  force  of  winds  and  waters  pent 
When  mountains  tremble,  those  two  massy  pillars 
With  horrible  convulsion  to  and  fro 
He  tugged,  he  shook,  till  down  they  came,  and  drew 
The  whole  roof  after  them  wTith  burst  of  thunder  10 

Upon  the  heads  of  all  who  sat  beneath, 
Lords,  ladies,  captains,  counselors,  or  priests, 
Their  choice  nobility  and  flower,  not  only 
Of  this,  but  each  Philistian  city  round, 
Met  from  all  parts  to  solemnize  this  feast.  is 

Samson,  with  these  immixed,  inevitably 
Pulled  down  the  same  destruction  on  himself  ; 
The  vulgar  only  'scaped,  who  stood  without. 

occasions  :  errands.  —  high  :  chief.  —  dispatched  :  accomplished.  — 
minded  :  decided.  —  vaulted  :  arched.  —  of  sort :  of  quality.  —  sacrifice  : 
sacrifices  were  often  offered  by  drinking  wine.  —  pipes  and  timbrels :  rude 
musical  instruments  like  fifes  and  tambourines.  —  horse  and  foot :  horse- 
men and  footmen.  —  cataphracts  :  horsemen  covered  with  armor.  —  rifted  : 
tore  asunder  :  we  have  a  similar  phrase  in  shouts  rent  the  air.  —  thrall : 
slave.  — without  help  of  eye  :  Samson  had  been  blinded  by  his  captors.  — 
which  :  the  pillars.  —  as  reason  was  :  with  good  reason.  —  beheld  :  I  have 
been  beheld.  —  amaze:  amazement;  stupefaction. — pent:  confined,  held 
in.  —  with  these  immixed  :  in  the  midst  of  these.  —  the  vulgar  :  the  com- 
mon people.  This  was  the  original  meaning  of  the  word. 


430 
COMETS 

Robert  Stawell  Ball 

Sir  Robert  Stawell  Ball  is  a  well-known  astronomer.  He  was 
born  in  Dublin,  Ireland,  in  1840. 

The  planets  are  all  massive  globes,  more  or  less  flat- 
tened at  the  poles;   but  now  we  have  to  talk  about  a 

5  multitude  of  objects  of  the  most  irregular  shapes  and  of 
the  most  flimsy  description.  We  call  them  "  comets,"  and 
they  exist  in  such  numbers  that  an  old  astronomer  has 
said  there  are  "more  comets  in  the  sky  than  fishes  in 
the  sea,"  though  I  think  we  cannot  quite  believe  him. 

10  There  is  also  another  wide  difference  between  planets  and 
comets  :  planets  move  round  in  nearly  circular  ellipses, 
and  not  only  do  we  know  where  a  planet  is  to-night,  but 
we  know  where  it  was  a  month  ago,  or  a  hundred  years 
ago,  or  where  it  will  be  in  a  hundred  years  or  a  thousand 

15  years  to  come. 

All  such  movements  are  conducted  with  conspicuous 
regularity  and  order ;  but  now  we  are  to  speak  of  bodies 
which  generally  come  in  upon  us  in  the  most  uncertain  and 
irregular  fashion.    They  visit  us  we  hardly  know  whence, 

20  except  that  it  is  from  outer  space,  and  they  are  adorned  in 
a  glittering  raiment,  almost  spiritual  in  its  texture.  They 
are  always  changing  their  appearance  in  a  baffling  but 
still  very  fascinating  manner.   If  an  artist  tries  to  draw  a 


431 

comet,  he  will  have  hardly  finished  his  picture  of  it  in  one 
charming  robe  before  he  finds  it  arrayed  in  another.  The 
astronomer  has  also  his  complaints  to  make  against  the 
comets.  I  have  told  you  how  thoroughly  we  can  rely  on 
the  movements  of  the  planets,  but  comets  often  play  sad  5 
pranks  with  our  calculations.  They  sometimes  take  the 
astronomers  by  surprise  and  blaze  out  with  their  long 
tails  just  when  we  do  not  expect  them.  Then,  by  way  of 
compensation,  they  frequently  disappoint  us  by  not  ap- 
pearing when  they  have  been  most  anxiously  looked  for.     10 

After  a  voyage  through  space  the  comet  at  length  be- 
gins to  draw  in  toward  the  central  parts  of  our  system, 
and  as  it  approaches  the  sun  its  pace  becomes  gradually 
greater  and  greater  ;  in  fact,  as  the  body  sweeps  round 
the  sun  the  speed  is  sometimes  twenty  thousand  times  15 
faster  than  that  of  an  express  train.  It  is  sometimes  more 
than  a  thousand  times  as  fast  as  the  swiftest  of  rifle  bul- 
lets, occasionally  attaining  the  rate  of  two  hundred  miles 
a  second.  The  closer  the  comet  goes  to  the  sun,  the  faster 
it  moves ;  and  a  case  has  been  known  in  which  a  comet,  20 
after  coming  in  for  an  incalculable  duration  of  time  toward 
the  sun,  has  acquired  a  speed  so  tremendous  that  in  two 
hours  it  has  whirled  round  the  sun  and  has  commenced  to 
return  to  the  depths  of  outer  space.  This  terrific  outburst 
of  speed  does  not  last  long.  It  diminishes  to  ten  thousand  25 
times  that  of  our  express  trains,  to  fifty  times,  to  ten  times 
that  pace,  while  in  the  outermost  part  of  its  path  the 


432 

comet  seems  to  creep  along  so  slowly  that  we  might  think 
it  had  been  fatigued  by  its  previous  exertions. 

When  a  comet  appears,  it  is  always  a  matter  of  interest 
to  see  whether  it  is  an  entirely  new  object,  or  whether  it 

5  may  not  be  only  another  return  of  a  comet  which  has  paid 
us  one  or  more  previous  visits.  The  question  then  arises 
as  to  how  they  are  to  be  identified.  Here  we  see  a  wide 
contrast  between  unsubstantial  bodies  like  comets,  and 
the  weighty  and  stately  planets.    Sketches  of  the  various 

10  planets  or  of  the  face  of  the  sun,  though  they  might  show 
slight  differences  from  time  to  time,  are  still  always  suffi- 
ciently characteristic,  just  as  a  photographic  portrait  will 
identify  the  individual,  even  though  the  lapse  of  years 
will   bring    some    changes    in  his    appearance.    But   the 

15  drawing  of  a  comet  is  almost  useless  for  identification. 
You  might  as  well  try  to  identify  a  cloud  or  a  puff  of 
smoke  by  making  a  picture  of  it.  Make  a  drawing  of  a 
comet  at  one  appearance  and  sketch  particularly  the 
ample  tail  with  which  it  is  provided.    The  next  time  the 

20  comet  comes  round  it  may  very  possibly  have  two  tails, 
or  possibly  no  tail  at  all.  We  are  therefore  unable  to 
place  any  reliance  on  the  comet's  personal  appearance  in 
our  efforts  to  identify  it.  The  highway  which  it  follows 
through  the  sky  affords  the  only  means  of  recognition  ; 

25  for  the  comet,  if  undisturbed  by  other  objects,  will 
never  change  its  actual  orbit.  But  even  this  method  of 
identification  often  fails,  for  it  not  unfrequently  happens 


433 

that  during  its  erratic  movements  the  comet  gets  into 
trouble  with  other  heavenly  bodies.  In  such  cases  the 
poor  comet  is  sometimes  driven  so  completely  out  of  its 
road  that  it  has  to  make  for  itself  an  entirely  new  path, 
and  our  efforts  to  identify  it  are  plunged  in  confusion.  5 
It  has  happened  that  a  second  comet  or  even  a  third 
will  be  found  in  nearly  the  same  track,  but  whether 
these  are  wholly  different,  or  whether  they  are  merely 
parts  of  the  same  original  object,  it  is  often  impossible 
to  determine.  10 

The  great  majority  of  comets  are  only  to  be  seen  with 
a  telescope,  and  hardly  a  year  passes  without  the  detection 
of  at  least  a  few  of  these  faint  objects.  The  number  of 
really  brilliant  comets  that  can  be  seen  in  a  lifetime 
could,  however,  be  counted  on  the  fingers.  15 

More  than  two  hundred  years  ago  there  lived  a  great 
astronomer  named  Halley,  and  in  the  year  1682  he,  like 
every  one  else,  was  looking  with  admiration  at  a  splendid 
comet  with  a  magnificent  tail  which  adorned  the  sky.  At 
the  observatories,  of  course,  they  diligently  set  down  the  20 
positions  of  the  comet,  which  they  ascertained  by  care- 
fully measuring  it  with  telescopes.  Halley  first  calculated 
the  highway  which  this  comet  followed  through  the 
heavens,  and  then  he  looked  at  the  list  of  old  comets 
that  had  been  seen  before.  He  thus  found  that  in  1607  25 
(that  was  seventy-five  years  earlier)  a  great  comet  had 
also  appeared,  the  path  of  which  seemed  much  the  same 


434 

as  that  which  he  found  for  the  body  that  he  had  himself 
observed.  This  was  a  remarkable  fact,  and  it  became  still 
more  significant  when  he  discovered  that  seventy-six  years 
earlier,  namely,  in  1531,  another  great  comet  had  been 
5  recorded,  which  moved  in  a  path  also  agreeing  with  those 
of  1607  and  1682.  It  then  occurred  to  Halley  that  possi- 
bly these  were  not  three  different  objects,  but  only  differ- 
ent exhibitions  of  one  and  the  same,  which  moved  round 
in  the  period  of  seventy-five  or  seventy-six  years. 

10  There  is  a  test  which  an  astronomer  can  often  apply  in 
the  proof  of  his  theory,  and  it  is  a  very  severe  test.  Hal- 
ley  ventured  to  submit  his  reputation  to  this  ordeal.  He 
prophesied  that  the  comet  would  appear  again  in  another 
seventy-five  or  seventy-six  years.   He  knew  that  he  should 

15  of  course  be  dead  long  before  1758  should  arrive  ;  but 
when  he  ventured  to  make  the  prediction,  he  said  that  he 
hoped  posterity  would  not  refuse  to  admit  that  this  dis- 
covery had  been  made  by  an  Englishman. 

You  can  easily  imagine  that  as  1758  drew  near  great 

20  interest  was  excited  among  astronomers,  to  see  if  the  pre- 
diction of  Halley  would  be  fulfilled.  We  are  accustomed 
in  these  days  to  find  many  astronomical  events  foretold 
with  the  same  sort  of  accuracy  that  we  expect  to  find  in 
railway  time-tables.    Even  now,  however,  we  are  not  able 

25  to  set  forth  our  time-tables  for  comets  with  the  same  con- 
fidence that  we  show  when  issuing  them  for  the  sun,  the 
moon,  or  the  stars.   How  astonishing,  then,  must  Halley's 


435 

prediction  have  seemed !  Here  was  a  vast*  comet  which 
had  to  make  a  voyage  through  space  to  the  extent  of 
many  hundreds  of  millions  of  miles.  For  three  quarters  of 
a  century  it  would  be  utterly  invisible  in  the  greatest  tel- 
escopes, and  the  only  way  in  which  it  could  be  perceived  5 
was  by  figures  and  calculations  which  enabled  the  mind's  eye 
to  follow  the  hidden  body  all  around  its  mysterious  track. 

For  fifty,  or  sixty,  or  seventy  years  nothing  had  been 
seen  of  the  comet,  nor,  indeed,  was  anything  expected  to 
be  seen  of  it  •  but  as  seventy-one,  and  seventy-two,  and  10 
seventy-three  years  passed,  it  was  felt  that  the  wan- 
derer, though  still  unseen,  must  be  rapidly  drawing  near. 
The  problem  was  made  more  difficult  for  those  skillful 
mathematicians  who  essayed  to  calculate  it,  by  the  fact 
that  the  comet  approached  the  thoroughfares  where  the  15 
planets  circulate,  and,  of  course,  the  flimsy  object  would 
be  pulled  hither  and  thither  out  of  its  path  by  the  attrac- 
tions of  the  weighty  bodies.  Clairaut,  who  devoted  him- 
self to  this  problem,  suggested  that  there  might  also  be 
some  disturbances  from  other  causes  of  which  he  -did  not  20 
know,  and  that  consequently  the  expected  return  of  the 
comet  might  be  a  month  wrong  either  way.  Great  indeed 
was  the  admiration  in  astronomical  circles  when,  true  to 
prediction,  the  comet  blazed  upon  the  world  within  the 
limits  of  time  Clairaut  had  specified.  25 

Generally  speaking,  great  comets  come  to  us  once  and 
then  are  never  seen  again.    Such  bodies  do  not  move  in 


436 

closed  ovals  or  ellipses ;  they  follow  another  kind  of  curve. 
It  is  one  that  every  boy  ought  to  know.  In  fact,  in  one  of 
his  earliest  accomplishments  he  learned  how  to  make  a 
parabola.  It  is  true  he  did  not  call  it  by  any  name  so 
5  fine  as  this,  but  every  time  a  ball  is  thrown  into  the  air 
it  describes  a  part  of  the  beautiful  curve  which  geometers 
know  by  this  word.  In  fact,  you  could  not  throw  a  ball  so 
that  it  should  describe  any  other  curve  than  a  parabola. 
No  boy  could  throw  a  stone  in  a  truly  horizontal  line.    It 

10  will  always  curve  down  a  little, — will  always,  in  fact,  be 
a  portion  of  a  parabola. 

But  the  grandest  of  all  parabolas  are  those  which  the 
comets  pursue.  Unlike  the  ellipse,  the  parabola  is  an  open 
curve ;  it  has  two  branches  stretching  away  and  away  for- 

15  ever,  and  always  getting  farther  apart. 

The  shape  of  this  grand  curve  will  explain  why  so 
many  comets  only  appear  to  us  once.  It  is  quite  clear 
that  if  you  begin  to  run  round  a  closed  race  course,  you 
may,  if  you  continue  your  career  long  enough,  pass  and 

20  repass  the  starting  post  thousands  of  times.  Thus  comets 
which  move  in  ellipses,  and  are  consequently  tracing 
closed  curves,  will  pass  the  earth  times  without  number. 
But  suppose  you  are  traveling  along  a  road  which,  no 
matter  how  it  may  turn,  never  leads  again  into  itself, 

25  then  it  is  quite  plain  that,  even  if  you  continue  your 
journey  forever,  you  can  never  twice  pass  the  same  house 
on  the  roadside. 


437 

The  orbits  of  most  of  the  comets  are  parabolas  which 
bend  round  the  sun ;  and,  generally  speaking,  the  sun  is 
very  close  to  the  turning  point.  The  earth  is  also,  com- 
paratively speaking,  close  to  the  sun;  so  that  while  the 
comet  is  in  that  neighborhood  we  can  sometimes  see  it.  5 
We  do  not  see  the  comet  for  a  long  time  before  it  ap- 
proaches the  sun,  nor  for  a  long  time  after  it  has  passed 
the  sun.  All  we  know,  therefore,  of  its  journey  is  that 
the  two  ends  of  the  parabola  stretch  on  and  on  forever 
into  space.  10 

Why  one  of  these  mysterious  wanderers  should  ap- 
proach in  such  a  hurry,  and  why  it  should  then  fly 
back  again,  can  be  partially  explained  without  the  aid  of 
mathematics. 

Let  us   suppose    that,   at   a   distance   of   thousands  of  15 
millions  of  miles,  there  floats  a  mass  of  flimsy  material 
resembling  that  from  which  comets  are  made.    Notwith- 
standing its  vast  distance  from  the  sun,  the  attraction 
of  that  great  body  will  extend  thither.    It  is  true  that  the 
pull  of  the  sun  on  the  comet  will  be  of  the  feeblest  and  20 
slightest  description,  on  account  of  the  enormously  great 
distance.    Still  the  comet  will  respond  in  some,  degree, 
and  will  commence  gradually  to  move  in  the  direction  in 
which  the  sun  invites  it.    Perhaps  centuries,  or  perhaps 
thousands,  or  even  tens  of  thousands,  of  years  will  elapse  25 
before  the  object  has  gained  the  solar  system.    By  that 
time  its  speed  will  be  augmented  to  such  a  degree  that, 


438 

after  a  terrific  whirl  around  the  sun,  it  will  at  once  fly  off 
again  along  the  other  branch  of  the  parabola.  Perhaps 
you  will  wonder  why  it  does  not  tumble  straight  into  the 
sun.    It  would  do  so,  no  doubt,  if  it  started  at  first  from 

5  a  position  of  rest ;  generally,  however,  the  comet  has  a 
motion  to  begin  with,  which  would  not  be  directed  exactly 
to  the  luminary.  This  it  is  which  causes  the  comet  to 
miss  actually  hitting  the  sun. 

It  may  also  be  difficult  to  understand  why  the  sun  does 

10  not  keep  the  comet  when  at  last  it  has  arrived.  Why 
should  the  wandering  body  be  in  such  a  hurry  to  recede  ? 
Surely  it  might  be  expected  that  the  attraction  of  the  sun 
ought  to  hold  it.  If  something  were  to  check  the  pace  of 
the  comet  in  its  terrific  dash  round  the  sun,  then,  no 

15  doubt,  the  object  would  simply  tumble  down  into  the  sun 
and  be  lost.  The  sun  has,  however,  not  time  to  pull  in 
the  comet  when  it  comes  up  with  a  speed  twenty  thousand 
times  that  of  an  express  train.  But  the  sun  does  succeed 
in  altering  the  direction  of  the  motion  of  the  comet,  and 

20  the  attraction  has  shown  itself  in  that  way. 

A  comet  is  made  of  very  unsubstantial  material.  This 
we  can  show  in  a  very  interesting  manner  when  we  see 
it  moving  over  the  sky  between  the  earth  and  the  stars. 
Sometimes  a  comet  will  pass  over  a  cluster  of  very  small 

25  stars,  so  faint  that  the  very  lightest  cloud  that  is  ever 
in  the  sky  would  be  quite  sufficient  to  hide  them.  Yet 
the  stars  are  distinctly  visible  right  through  the  comet, 


439 

notwithstanding  that  it  may  be  hundreds  of  thousands  of 
miles  thick.  This  shows  us  how  excessively  flimsy  is  the 
substance  of  a  comet,  for  while  a  few  feet  of  haze  or  mist 
suffice  to  extinguish  the  brightest  of  stars,  this  immense 
curtain  of  comet  stuff,  whatever  it  may  be  made  of,  is  5 
practically  transparent. 

Comets  have  such  a  capricious  habit  of  dashing  into 
the  solar  system  at  any  time  and  from  any  direction,  that 
it  is  worth  while  asking  whether  a  comet  might  not  some- 
times happen  to  come  into  collision  with  the  earth.  There  10 
is  nothing  impossible  in  such  an  occurrence.  There  is, 
however,  no  reason  to  apprehend  that  any  disastrous  con- 
sequences would  ensue  to  the  earth.  Man  has  lived  on 
this  globe  for  many,  many  thousands  of  years,  and  the 
rocks  are  full  of  the  remains  of  fossil  animals  which  have  15 
flourished  during  past  ages;  indeed,  we  cannot  possibly 
estimate  the  number  of  millions  of  years  that  have  elapsed 
since  living  things  first  crawled  about  this  globe.  There 
has  never  been  any  complete  break  in  the  succession  of 
life ;  consequently  during  all  those  millions  of  years  we  are  20 
certain  that  there  has  happened  to  the  earth  no  such  dire 
calamity  as  a  frightful  collision  would  have  produced,  and 
we  need  not  apprehend  any  such  catastrophe  in  the  future. 

I  do  not  mean,  however,  that  harmless  collisions  with 
comets  may  not   have   occasionally  happened ;    in  fact,  25 
there  is  good  reason  for  knowing  that  they  have  actually 
taken  place.    In  the  year  1861  we  had  a  novel  experience. 


440 

On  a  Sunday  evening  in  midsummer  of  that  year  we 
dashed  into  a  comet,  or  it  dashed  into  us.  We  were 
not,  it  is  true,  in  collision  with  its  densest  part;  it  was 
rather  the  end  of  the  tail  which  we  encountered.  There 
5  were,  fortunately,  no  very  serious  results.  Indeed,  most 
of  us  never  knew  that  anything  had  happened,  and  the 
rest  only  learned  of  the  accident  after  it  was  all  over. 

We  have  so  often  seen  a  stream  of  sparks  stretching 
out  along  the  track  of  a  skyrocket  that  we  might  natu- 

10  rally  suppose  that  the  tail  of  a  comet  streamed  out  along 
its  path  in  a  similar  manner.  This  would  be  quite  wrong. 
The  tail  does  not  lie  along  the  comet's  path,  but  is  always 
directed  outwards  from  the  sun.  It  is  also  noticeable  that 
the  tail  of  a  comet,  as  it  approaches  the  sun,  seems  to  grow 

15  in  length.  When  the  comet  is  first  seen,  the  tail  is  often  a 
very  insignificant  affair,  but  it  shoots  out  with  enormous 
rapidity  until  it  becomes  many  millions  of  miles  long. 
These  glories  soon  begin  to  wane  as  the  comet  flies  out- 
ward ;    the  tail  gradually  vanishes,  and  the  wanderer  re- 

20  treats  again  to  the  depths  of  space  in  the  same  undec- 
orated  condition  as  that  in  which  it  first  approached.  In 
fact,  the  tail  is  merely  a  stream  of  vaporous  particles,  dash- 
ing away  from  the  sun  as  if  the  heat  which  had  called 
them  into  being  was  a  torment  from  which  they  were 

25  endeavoring  to  escape. 

The  tail  of  a  comet  is,  therefore,  not  a  permanent  part  of 
the  body.    It  is  more  like  the  smoke  from  a  great  chimney. 


441 

The  smoke  is  being  incessantly  renewed  at  one  end  as 
the  column  gets  dispersed  into  the  air  at  the  other.  As  the 
comet  retreats,  the  sun's  heat  loses  its  power.  In  the  chills 
of  space  there  is,  therefore,  no  tail  making  in  progress, 
while  the  small  mass  of  the  comet  renders  it  unable  to  5 
gather  back  again  by  its  attraction  the  materials  which 
have  been  expelled.  Should  it  happen  that  the  comet 
moves  in  an  elliptic  orbit,  it  will,  of  course,  endeavor  to 
manufacture  a  tail  each  time  that  it  approaches  the  source 
of  heat.  The  quantity  of  material  available  for  the  for-  10 
mation  of  tails  is  limited  to  the  amount  with  which  the 
comet  originally  started ;  no  fresh  supply  can  be  added. 
If,  therefore,  the  comet  expends  a  portion  of  this  every 
time  it  comes  round,  at  each  successive  return  the  tails 
produced  must  generally  decline  in  size  and  magnificence,  16 
until  at  last  the  necessary  materials  have  been  all  squan- 
dered, and  we  have  the  pitiful  spectacle  of  a  comet  with- 
out any  tail  at  all. 

Clairaut  (kl6  ro')  :  an  eminent  French  mathematician.  —  geom'eter :  a 
student  of  geometry  ;  a  mathematician. 


We  may  be  sure  (although  we  know  not  why)  that  we 

give  our  lives  like  coral  insects,  to  build  up  insensibly,  in  20 

the  twilight  of  the  seas  of  time,  the  reef  of  righteousness. 

And  we  may  be  sure  (although  we  see  not  how)  that  it  is 

a  thing  worth  doing. 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson 


442 
HYMN  TO  MONT  BLANC 

[Before  Sunrise  in  the  Valley  of  Chamouni] 

Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge 

Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge  (1772-1834)  was  one  of  a  group  of  famous 
English  poets. 

Note.  Besides  the  rivers  Arve  and  Arveiron  which  have  their  sources 
at  the  foot  of  Mont  Blanc,  five  conspicuous  torrents  rush  down  its  sides, 
5  and  within  a  few  steps  of  the  glaciers  the  gentian  grows  in  immense  num- 
bers, with  its  "  flowers  of  loveliest  blue." 

Hast  thou  a  charm  to  stay  the  morning  star 
In  his  steep  course  ?   So  long  he  seems  to  pause 
On  thy  bald,  awful  head,  0  sovereign  Blanc ! 

io  The  Arve  and  Arveiron  at  thy  base 

Rave  ceaselessly ;  but  thou,  most  awful  form, 
Risest  from  forth  thy  silent  sea  of  pines 
How  silently !  Around  thee  and  above 
Deep  is  the  air  and  dark,  substantial,  black, 

15  An  ebon  mass  :  methinks  thou  piercest  it 

As  with  a  wedge  !  But  when  I  look  again, 
It  is  thine  own  calm  home,  thy  crystal  shrine, 
Thy  habitation  from  eternity ! 

0  dread  and  silent  Mount !  I  gazed  upon  thee, 
20          Till  thou,  still  present  to  the  bodily  sense, 

Didst  vanish  from  my  thought :  entranced  in  prayer, 

1  worshiped  the  Invisible  alone. 


443 


444 

Yet  like  some  sweet,  beguiling  melody, 
So  sweet  we  know  not  we  are  listening  to  it, 
Thou,  the  meanwhile,  wast  blending  with  my  thought, 
Yea,  with  my  life  and  life's  own  secret  joy ; 
5      Till  the  dilating  soul  —  enrapt,  transfused, 
Into  the  mighty  vision  passing  —  there, 
As  in  her  natural  form,  swelled  vast  to  heaven ! 

Awake,  my  soul !  not  only  passive  praise 
Thou  owest ;  not  alone  these  swelling  tears, 
10      Mute  thanks,  and  secret  ecstasy.    Awake, 

Voice  of  sweet  song  !    Awake,  my  heart,  awake  ! 
Green  vales  and  icy  cliffs,  all  join  my  hymn ! 

Thou  first  and  chief,  sole  sovereign  of  the  vale ! 
0,  struggling  with  the  darkness  all  the  night, 

15      And  visited  all  night  by  troops  of  stars, 

Or  when  they  climb  the  sky  or  when  they  sink : 
Companion  of  the  morning  star  at  dawn, 
Thyself  earth's  rosy  star,  and  of  the  dawn 
Co-herald ;  wake,  0,  wake,  and  utter  praise  ! 

20  Who  sank  thy  sunless  pillars  deep  in  earth  ? 
Who  filled  thy  countenance  with  rosy  light  ? 
Who  made  thee  parent  of  perpetual  streams  ? 

And  you,  ye  five  wild  torrents  fiercely  glad ! 
Who  called  you  forth  from  night  and  utter  death, 
25      From  dark  and  icy  caverns  called  you  forth, 


445 

Down  those  precipitous,  black,  jagged  rocks, 

For  ever  shattered  and  the  same  for  ever  ? 

Who  gave  you  your  invulnerable  life, 

Your  strength,  your  speed,  your  fury,  and  your  joy, 

Unceasing  thunder  and  eternal  foam  ?  5 

And  who  commanded,  (and  the  silence  came,) 

Here  let  the  billows  stiffen,  and  have  rest  ? 

Ye  ice-falls  !  ye  that  from  the  mountain's  brow 
Adown  enormous  ravines  slope  amain,  — 
Torrents,  methinks,  that  heard  a  mighty  voice,  10 

And  stopped  at  once  amid  their  maddest  plunge! 
Motionless  torrents  !  silent  cataracts  ! 
Who  made  you  glorious  as  the  gates  of  heaven 
Beneath  the  keen  full  moon  ?    Who  bade  the  sun 
Clothe  you  with  rainbows  ?   Who,  with  living  flowers      15 
Of  loveliest  blue,  spread  garlands  at  your  feet  ?  — 
God !  let  the  torrents,  like  a  shout  of  nations, 
Answer !  and  let  the  ice-plains  echo,  God  ! 
God !  sing  ye  meadow-streams  with  gladsome  voice  ! 
Ye  pine  groves,  with  your  soft  and  soul-like  sounds !       20 
And  they  too  have  a  voice,  yon  piles  of  snow, 
And  in  their  perilous  fall  shall  thunder,  God ! 

Ye  living  flowers  that  skirt  th'  eternal  frost ; 
Ye  wild  goats  sporting  round  the  eagle's  nest ; 
Ye  eagles,  playmates  of  the  mountain  storm ;  25 


446 

Ye  lightnings,  the  dread  arrows  of  the  clouds ; 
Ye  signs  and  wonders  of  the  element,  — 
Utter  forth  God,  and  fill  the  hills  with  praise ! 

Thou  too,  hoar  Mount,  with  thy  sky-pointing  peaks, 
5      Oft  from  whose  feet  the  avalanche,  unheard, 

Shoots  downward,  glittering  through  the  pure  serene 
Into  the  depth  of  clouds  that  veil  thy  breast,  — 
Thou  too  again,  stupendous  Mountain  !  thou 
That  as  I  raise  my  head,  awhile  bowed  low 
10      In  adoration,  upward  from  thy  base 

Slow  traveling  with  dim  eyes  suffused  with  tears, 
Solemnly  seemest,  like  a  vapory  cloud, 
To  rise  before  me,  —  rise,  0  ever  rise, 
Rise  like  a  cloud  of  incense  from  the  earth ! 
15      Thou  kingly  Spirit  throned  among  the  hills, 
Thou  dread  ambassador  from  earth  to  heaven, 
Great  hierarch !  tell  thou  the  silent  sky, 
And  tell  the  stars,  and  tell  yon  rising  sun, 
Earth,  with  her  thousand  voices,  praises  God  ! 

Mont   Blanc  (moxblaN):    the  highest  peak  of  the  Alps.  —  Chamouni 
(sha'  moo  ne)  :  a  valley  at  the  foot  of  Mont  Blanc.  —  awful :  causing  awe. 

—  Arve  (arv)  :  a  river  which  finds  its  outlet  in  the  Rhone Arveiron 

(ar  va  ton)  :  a  tributary  of  the  Arve.  — transfused:   changed  ;  transferred. 

—  co-herald  :   accompanying  herald.  —  perilous   fall :   the  dreaded  ava- 
lanche. —  element :  the  heavens.  — hi'erarch  :    a  priestly  official. 


447 
EIBAUT'S  FIRST  EXPEDITION 

Francis  Parkmax 

Francis  Parkmax  (1823-1893)  was  an  eminent  American  historian 
who  wrote  mainly  of  French  exploration  and  settlement  in  the  Xew  World. 

Note.     For   years  after   the   discovery   of   America    there   were    few 
attempts  to  colonize  the  land  now  occupied  by  the  United  States.    Spain 

•eking  gold  in  Mexico  and  Peru,  while  England  and  France  were  ab-    5 
sorbed  by  affairs  at  home.    An  effort  was  made  to  establish  a  French  colony 
in  Brazil,  but  it  was  unsuccessful.    Cartier's  colony  in  Canada  met  with  a 
like  fate.    The  following  narrative  is  abridged  from  Pioneers  of  France  in 
r  World. 

In  the  year  1562  a  cloud  of  black  and  deadly  portent  10 
was  thickening  over  France.  Surely  and  swiftly  she  glided 
toward  the  abyss  of  the  religious  wars.  None  could  pierce 
the  future,  perhaps  none  dared  to  contemplate  it :  the  wild 
rage  of  fanaticism  and  hate,  friend  grappling  with  friend, 
brother  with  brother,  father  with  son;  altars  profaned,  15 
hearthstones  made  desolate ;  the  robes  of  Justice  herself 
bedrenchecl  with  murder. 

In  these  days  of  fear  a  second  Huguenot  colony  sailed 
for  the  New  World.  Jean  Ribaut  of  Dieppe  commanded 
the  expedition.  Under  him,  besides  sailors,  were  a  band  20 
of  veteran  soldiers  and  a  few  young  nobles.  Embarked 
in  two  of  those  antiquated  craft  whose  high  poops  and 
tub-like  proportions  are  preserved  in  the  old  engravings 
of  De  Bry,  they  sailed  from  Havre  on  the  eighteenth  of 
February,  15G2.    They  crossed  the  Atlantic,  and  on  the  25 


448 

thirtieth  of  April,  in  the  latitude  of  twenty-nine  and  a 
half  degrees,  saw  the  long,  low  line  where  the  wilderness 
of  waves  met  the  wilderness  of  woods.  It  was  the  coast 
of  Florida.   Soon  they  descried  a  jutting  point,  which  they 

5  called  French  Cape,  perhaps  one  of  the  headlands  of  Ma- 
tanzas  Inlet.  They  turned  their  prows  northward,  skirt- 
ing the  fringes  of  that  waste  of  verdure  which  rolled  in 
shadowy  undulation  far  to  the  unknown  West. 

On  the  next  morning,  the  first  of  May,  they  found  them- 

10  selves  off  the  mouth  of  a  great  river.  Riding  at  anchor  on 
a  sunny  sea,  they  lowered  their  boats,  crossed  the  bar  that 
obstructed  the  entrance,  and  floated  on  a  basin  of  deep 
and  sheltered  water  alive  with  leaping  fish.  Indians  were 
running  along  the  beach  and  out  upon  the  sand  bars,  beck- 

15  oning  them  to  land.  They  pushed  their  boats  ashore  and 
disembarked,  —  sailors,  soldiers,  and  eager  young  nobles. 
Corselet  and  morion,  arquebuse  and  halberd,  flashed  in 
the  sun  that  flickered  through  innumerable  leaves,  as, 
kneeling  on  the  ground,  they  gave  thanks  to  God  who  had 

20  guided  their  voyage  to  an  issue  full  of  promise. 

The  Indians,  seated  gravely  under  the  neighboring  trees, 
looked  on  in  silent  respect,  thinking  that  they  worshiped 
the  sun.  They  were  in  full  paint,  in  honor  of  the  occasion, 
and  in  a  most  friendly  mood.    With  their  squaws  and 

25  children  they  presently  drew  near  and,  strewing  the  earth 
with  laurel  boughs,  sat  down  among  the  Frenchmen.  The 
latter  were  much  pleased  with  them,  and  Ribaut  gave  the 


449 

chief,  whom  he  calls  the  king,  a  robe  of  blue  cloth  worked 
in  yellow  with  the  royal  fleur-de-lis. 

But  Ribaut  and  his  followers,  just  escaped  from  the  dull 
prison  of  their  ships,  were  intent  on  admiring  the  wild 
scenes  around  them.    Never  had  they  known  a  fairer  May   5 
Day.    The  quaint  old  narrative  is  exuberant  with  delight. 
The  tranquil  air,  the  warm  sun,  woods  fresh  with  young 
verdure,  meadows  bright  with  flowers;  the  palm,  the  cy- 
press, the  pine,  the  magnolia;  the  grazing  deer;  herons, 
curlews,  bitterns,  woodcock,  and  unknown  waterfowl  that  10 
waded  in  the  ripple  of  the  beach;  cedars  bearded  from 
crown  to  root  with  long,  gray  moss ;  huge  oaks  smother- 
ing in  the  serpent  folds  of  enormous  grapevines  ;  —  such 
were  the  objects  that  greeted  them  in  their  roamings,  till 
their  new-discovered  land  seemed  "  the  fairest,  fruitfulest,  15 
and  pleasantest  of  all  the  world." 

Above  all,  it  was  plain  to  their  excited  fancy  that  the 
country  was  rich  in  gold  and  silver,  turquoises  and  pearls. 
One  of  the  latter,  "  as  great  as  an  Acorne  at  ye  least," 
hung  from  the  neck  of  an  Indian  who  stood  near  their  20 
boats  as  they  reembarked.  They  gathered,  too,  from  the 
signs  of  their  savage  visitors,  that  the  wonderful  land  of 
Cibola,  with  its  seven  cities  and  its  untold  riches,  was  dis- 
tant but  twenty  days'  journey  by  water.  In  truth,  it  was 
on  the  Gila,  two  thousand  miles  off,  and  its  wealth  a  fable.  25 

They  named  the  river  the  River  of  May  (it  is  now 
the  St.  Johns)  and  on  its  southern  shore,  near  its  mouth, 


450 

they  planted  a  stone  pillar  engraved  with  the  arms  of 
France.  Then,  once  more  embarked,  they  held  their 
course  northward,  happy  in  that  benign  decree  which 
locks  from  mortal  eyes  the  secrets  of  the  future. 

5      Slowly  moving  northward,  they  named  each  river,  or 

inlet  supposed  to  be  a  river,  after  the  streams  of  France. 

At  length,  opening  betwixt  flat  and  sandy  shores,  they 

saw  a  commodious  haven,  and  named  it  Port  Royal. 

On  the  twenty-seventh  of  May  they  crossed  the  bar 

10  and,  dreaming  nothing  of  what  the  rolling  centuries  should 
bring  forth,  held  their  course  along  the  peaceful  bosom  of 
Broad  River.  When  they  landed,  all  was  solitude.  The 
frightened  Indians  had  fled,  but  they  lured  them  back 
with  knives,  beads,  and  looking-glasses,  and  enticed  two 

15  of  them  on  board  their  ships.  Here,  by  feeding,  clothing, 
and  caressing  them,  they  tried  to  wean  them  from  their 
fears  ;  but  the  captive  warriors  moaned  and  lamented  day 
and  night,  till  Ribaut,  with  the  prudence  and  humanity 
which  seem  always  to  have  characterized  him,  gave  over 

20  his  purpose  of  carrying  them  to  France,  and  set  them 
ashore  again. 

Ranging  the  woods  they  found  them  full  of  game,  wild 
turkeys  and .  partridges,  bears  and  lynxes.  Preliminary 
exploration,  not  immediate  settlement,  had  been  the  object 

25  of  the  voyage  ;  but  all  was  still  rose-color  in  the  eyes  of 
the  voyagers,  and  many  of  their  number  would  fain  linger 
in  the  new  Canaan.     Ribaut  was  more  than  willing  to 


451 

humor  them.  He  mustered  his  company  on  deck  and  made 
them  a  stirring  harangue.  He  appealed  to  their  courage 
and  their  patriotism,  told  them  how,  from  a  mean  origin, 
men  rise  by  enterprise  and  daring  to  fame  and  fortune, 
and  demanded  who  among  them  would  stay  behind  and  5 
hold  Port  Royal  for  the  king.  The  greater  part  came  for- 
ward, and  "  with  such  a  good  will,"  writes  the  commander, 
"  as  we  had  much  to  do  to  stay  their  importunity." 

Thirty  were  chosen  and  a  fort  was  forthwith  begun 
about  six  miles  from  the  site  of  Beaufort.  They  named  it  10 
Charlesfort,  in  honor  of  Charles  the  Ninth.  Ammunition 
and  stores  were  sent  on  shore,  and  on  the  eleventh  of  June, 
with  his  diminished  company,  Ribaut,  again  embarking, 
spread  his  sails  for  France. 

Ribaut :  Jean  Ribaut  (zhan  re  bo')  was  known  for  his  stanch  adherence 
to  the  Huguenot  party,  and  for  his  skill  as  a  sailor.  —  Huguenot :  French. 
Protestant.  —  Dieppe  (de  Sp')  :  a  French  seaport.  —  poop  :  the  high  stern 
of  a  vessel.  —  De  Bry  (bre)  :  a  painter  and  engraver  of  the  sixteenth. 
century.  —  corselet :  armor  for  the  body.  —  mo'rion  :  an  open  helmet.  — 
arquebuse  (ar'que  bus)  :  an  ancient  hand  gun.  —  halberd :  a  spear  and  ax 
combined.  —  fleur-de-lis  (flur  de  le') :  the  emblem  of  France.  It  is  the 
conventionalized  iris.  -2—  ye  (the)  :  the  old  printed  form  of  the.  It  is  often 
wrongly  pronounced  ye.  Ribaut 's  account  of  his  voyage  was  translated 
into  English  shortly  after  his  return.    Xo  record  in  the  original  French 

exists Cibola  (se'bo  la)  :   a  cluster  of  Indian  villages.  —  Gila  (he'la)  :  a 

river  of  Arizona.  —  Canaan  (ka'nan)  :  the  promised  land  of  the  Israelites. 
—  Beaufort  (bn.'fert):  a  seaport  of  South  Carolina,  situated  upon  Port 
Royal  Island.  — Charles  the  Ninth:  a  weak  and  unhappy  king  of  France. 
He  was  under  the  control  of  an  unscrupulous  mother,  who  was  responsible 
for  most  of  the  horrors  of  his  reign. 


452 
A  NIGHT  PIECE 

William  Wordsworth 

—  The  sky  is  overcast 
With  a  continuous  cloud  of  texture  close, 
Heavy  and  wan,  all  whitened  by  the  Moon, 
Which  through  that  veil  is  indistinctly  seen, 

5  A  dull,  contracted  circle,  yielding  light 

So  feebly  spread,  that  not  a  shadow  falls, 
Chequering  the  ground  —  from  rock,  plant,  tree, 

or  tower. 
At  length  a  pleasant  instantaneous  gleam 
Startles  the  pensive  traveler  while  he  treads 

10  His  lonesome  path,  with  unobserving  eye 

Bent  earthwards ;  he  looks  up  —  the  clouds  are  split 
Asunder,  —  and  above  his  head  he  sees 
The  clear  Moon,  and  the  glory  of  the  heavens.' 
There,  in  a  black-blue  vault  she  sails  along, 

15  Followed  by  multitudes  of  stars,  that,  small 

And  sharp,  and  bright,  along  the  dark  abyss 
Drive  as  she  drives  :  how  fast  they  wheel  away, 
Yet  vanish  not !  —  the  wind  is  in  the  tree, 
But  they  are  silent ;  —  still  they  roll  along 

20  Immeasurably  distant ;  and  the  vault, 

Built  round  by  those  white  clouds,  enormous  clouds, 
Still  deepens  its  unfathomable  depth. 


453 
THE  GROWTH  OF  A  NATION 

John  Fiske 
John  Fiske  (1842-1001)  was  an  American  author  and  scholar. 

The  nation  over  which  George  Washington  was  called 
to  preside  in  1789  was  a  third-rate  power,  inferior  in  pop- 
ulation and  wealth  to  Holland,  for  example,  and  about  on 
a  level  with  Portugal  or  Denmark.  The  population,  num-  5 
bering  less  than  four  million,  was  thinly  scattered  through 
the  thirteen  states  between  the  Atlantic  and  the  Alle- 
ghenies,  beyond  which  mountainous  barrier  a  few  hardy- 
pioneers  were  making  the  beginnings  of  Tennessee,  Ken- 
tucky, and  Ohio.  Roads  were  few  and  bad,  none  of  the  10 
great  rivers  were  bridged,  mails  were  irregular.  There 
were  few  manufactures.  There  were  many  traders  and 
merchant  seamen  in  the  coast  towns  of  the  north,  but 
the  great  majority  of  the  people  were  farmers  who  lived 
on  the  produce  of  their  own  estates  and  seldom  undertook  15 
long  journeys.  Hence  the  different  parts  of  the  country 
knew  very  little  about  each  other,  and  entertained  absurd 
prejudices ;  and  the  sentiment  of  union  between  the  states 
was  extremely  weak. 

East  of  the  Alleghenies  the  red  man  had  ceased  to  be  20 
dangerous,  but  tales  of  Indian  massacre  still  came  from 
regions  no  more  remote  than  Ohio  and  Georgia.    By  rare 
good  fortune   and  consummate  diplomacy  the  United 


454 

States  had  secured,  at  the  peace  of  1783,  all  the  territory 
as  far  as  the  Mississippi  River,  but  all  the  vast  regions 
beyond,  together  with  the  important  city  of  New  Orleans 
at  its  mouth,  belonged   to  Spain,  the  European  power 

5  which  most  cordially  hated  us.  The  only  other  power 
which  had  possessions  in  North  America  was  England, 
from  which  we  had  lately  won  our  independence.  The 
feeling  entertained  toward  us  in  England  was  one  of  mor- 
tification and  chagrin,  accompanied  by  a  hope  that  our 

10  half -formed  Union  would  fall  in  pieces  and  its  separate 
states  be  driven  by  disaster  to  beg  to  be  taken  back  into 
the  British  Empire.  The  rest  of  Europe  knew  little  about 
the  United  States  and  cared  less. 

This  country,  however,  which  seemed  so  insignificant 

15  beside  the  great  powers  of  Europe,  contained  within  itself 
the  germs  of  an  industrial  and  political  development  far 
greater  than  anything  the  world  had  ever  seen.  The 
American  population  was  settled  upon  a  territory  much 
more  than  capable  of  supporting  it.    The  natural  resources 

20  of  the  country  were  so  vast  as  to  create  a  steady  demand 
for  labor  far  greater  than  ordinary  increase  of  population 
could  supply.  This  is  still  the  case,  and  for  a  long  time 
wTill  continue  to  be  the  case.  It  is  this  simple  economic 
fact  which  has  always  been  at  the  bottom  of  the  wonder- 

25  ful  growth  of  the  United  States.  But  it  was  very  neces- 
sary that  the  nation  should  be  provided  with  such  a 
government  as  would  enable  it  to  take  full  advantage  of 


455 

this  fact.  It  was  necessary,  first,  that  the  federal  govern- 
ment should  be  strong  enough  to  preserve  peace  at  home 
and  make  itself  respected  abroad ;  secondly,  that  local 
self-government  should  be  maintained  in  every  part  of 
the  Union;  thirdly,  that  there  should  be  absolute  free  5 
trade  between  the  states.  These  three  great  ends  our 
federal  Constitution  has  secured.  The  requisite  strength 
in  the  central  government  was,  indeed,  not  all  acquired 
in  a  moment.  It  took  a  second  war  with  England,  in 
1812-1815,  to  convince  foreign  nations  that  the  American  10 
flag  could  not  be  insulted  with  impunity ;  and  it  took  the 
terrible  Civil  War  to  prove  that  our  government  was  too 
strong  to  be  overthrown  by  the  most  formidable  domestic 
combination  that  could  possibly  be  brought  against  it. 
The  result  of  both  these  wars  has  been  to  diminish  the  15 
probable  need  for  further  wars  on  the  part  of  the  United 
States.  In  spite  of  these  and  other  minor  contests,  our 
federal  Constitution  for  a  century  kept  the  American 
Union  in  such  profound  peace  as  was  never  seen  before 
in  any  part  of  the  earth  since  men  began  to  live  upon  its  20 
surface.  Local  self-government  and  free  trade  within  the 
limits  of  the  Union  were  not  interfered  with.  As  a  result, 
we  were  able  to  profit  largely  by  our  natural  advantages, 
so  that  the  end  of  our  first  century  of  national  existence 
found  us  the  strongest  and  richest  nation  in  the  world.        25 

For  these  blessings,  in  so  far  as  they  are  partly  the 
work  of  wise  statesmanship,  a  large  share  of  our  gratitude 


456 

is  due  to  the  administration  of  George  Washington.  .  .  . 
The  character  of  Washington  may  want  some  of  those 
poetical  elements  which  dazzle  and  delight  the  multitude, 
but  it  possessed  fewer  inequalities  and  a  rarer  union  of 
5  virtues  than  perhaps  ever  fell  to  the  lot  of  any  other  man, 
—  prudence,  firmness,  sagacity,  moderation,  an  overruling 
judgment,  an  immovable  justice,  courage  that  never  fal- 
tered, patience  that  never  wearied,  truth  that  disdained 
all  artifice,  magnanimity  without  alloy.    It  seems  as  if 

10  Providence  had  endowed  him  in  a  preeminent  degree 
with  the  qualities  requisite  to  fit  him  for  the  high  destiny 
he  was  called  upon  to  fulfill,  —  to  conduct  a  momentous 
revolution  which  was  to  form  an  era  in  the  history  of  the 
world,  and  to  inaugurate  a  new  and  untried  government, 

15  which,  to  use  his  own  words,  was  to  lay  the  foundation 
"  for  the  enjoyment  of  much  purer  civil  liberty  and  greater 
public  happiness  than  have  hitherto  been  the  portion  of 
mankind." 

The  fame  of  Washington  stands  apart  from  every  other 

20  in  history,  shining  with  a  truer  luster  and  a  more  benig- 
nant glory.  With  us  his  memory  remains  a  national  prop- 
erty, where  all  sympathies  throughout  our  widely  extended 
and  diversified  empire  meet  in  unison.  Under  all  dissen- 
sions and  amid  all  the  storms  of  party  his  precepts  and 

25  example  speak  to  us  from  the  grave  with  a  paternal 
appeal ;  and  his  name,  by  all  revered,  forms  a  universal 
tie  of  brotherhood,  a  watchword  of  our  Union. 


457 
HOME  THOUGHTS  FROM  ABROAD 

Robert  Browning 

Robert  Browning,  a  great  English  poet,  was  born  near  London  in 
1812,  and  died  in  Venice,  Italy,  in  1889. 

Oh,  to  be  in  England 

Now  that  April 's  there  ! 

And  whoever  wakes  in  England  5 

Sees,  some  morning,  unaware, 

That  the  lowest  boughs  and  the  brushwood  sheaf 

Round  the  elm-tree  bole  are  in  tiny  leaf, 

While  the  chaffinch  sings  on  the  orchard  bough 

In  England  —  now  !  10 

And  after  April,  when  May  follows, 

And  the  whitethroat  builds,  and  all  the  swallows ! 

Hark,  when  my  blossomed  pear  tree  in  the  hedge 

Leans  to  the  field  and  scatters  on  the  clover 

Blossoms  and  dewdrops  —  at  the  bent-spray's  edge  —      15 

That's  the  wise  thrush  ;  he  sings  each  song  twice  over 

Lest  you  should  think  he  never  could  recapture 

The  first  fine  careless  rapture  ! 

And  though  the  fields  look  rough  with  hoary  dew, 

All  will  be  gay  when  noontide  wakes  anew  20 

The  buttercups,  the  little  children's  dower, 

—  Far  brighter  than  this  gaudy  melon-flower ! 


458 


JOHN  MILTON  AND  THE  PURITANS 

John  Eichard  Green 

John  Milton  is  not  only  the  highest  but  the  completest 
type  of  Puritanism.  His  life  is  absolutely  contempora- 
neous with  his  cause.  He  was  born  when  it  began  to  exer- 
cise a  direct  influence  over  English  politics  and  English 

5  religion ;  he  died  when  its  effort  to  mold  them  into  its 
own  shape  was  over,  and  when  it  had  again  sunk  into 
one  of  many  influences  to  which  we  owe  our  English 
character. 

Milton's  youth  shows  us  how  much  of  gayety,  poetic 

10  ease,  and  intellectual  culture  lingered  in  a  Puritan  home. 
His  surroundings  were  all  rigidly  Puritan,  but  there  was 
nothing  narrow  or  illiberal  in  his  early  training.  "My 
father,"  he  says,  "  destined  me  while  yet  a  little  boy  to 
the   study  of  humane  letters,  which  I  seized  with  such 

15  eagerness  that  from  the  twelfth  year  of  my  age  I  scarcely 
ever  went  from  my  lessons  to  bed  before  midnight." 

In  spite  of  a  "  certain  reservedness  of  natural  disposi- 
tion," Milton  could  enjoy  the  world  around  him.  There 
was  nothing  ascetic  in  his  look,  in  his  slender,  vigorous 

20  frame,  his  face  full  of  a  delicate  yet  serious  beauty,  and 
the  rich  brown  hair  that  clustered  over  his  brow.  But  his 
pleasures  were  "  unre proved."  From  coarse  self-indulgence 
the  young  Puritan  turned  with  disgust.    It  was  with  this 


459 


460 

temper  that  he  passed  from  his  London  school  to  Christ's 
College  at  Cambridge,  and  it  was  this  temper  that  he 
preserved  throughout  his  university  career. 

In  minds  of  a  less  cultured  order  this  moral  tension 

5  ended  no  doubt  in  a  hard,  unsocial  sternness  of  life.  The 
ordinary  Puritan  "  loved  all  that  were  godly,  much  mis- 
liking  the  wicked  and  profane."  His  bond  to  other  men 
was  not  the  sense  of  a  common  manhood,  but  the  recog- 
nition of  a  brotherhood  among  the  elect.   Without  the  pale 

10  of  the  saints  lay  a  world  which  was  hateful  to  them.  It 
was  this  utter  isolation  from  the  "  ungodly  "  that  explains 
the  contrast  which  startles  us  between  the  inner  tender- 
ness of  the  Puritans  and  the  ruthlessness  of  so  many  of 
their  actions.    Cromwell,  whose  son's  death  (in  his  own 

15  words)  went  to  his  heart  "  like  a  dagger,  indeed  it  did ! " 
and  who  rode  away  sad  and  wearied  from  the  triumph  of 
Marston  Moor,  burst  into  horseplay  as  he  signed  the 
death  warrant  of  the  king. 

During  the  Civil  War  Milton  had  been  engaged  in  strife 

20  with  Presbyterians  and  with  royalists,  pleading  for  civil  and 
religious  freedom,  for  freedom  of  social  life,  and  freedom 
of  the  press.  At  a  later  time  he  became  Latin  Secretary 
to  the  Protector,  in  spite  of  a  blindness  which  had  been 
brought  on  by  the  intensity  of  his  study.    The  Restoration 

25  found  him  of  all  men  the  most  hateful  to  the  royalists. 
Parliament  ordered  his  book,  The  Defence  of  the  English 
People,  to  be  burned,  and  he  was  for  a  time  imprisoned. 


461 

As  age  drew  on  he  found  himself  reduced  to  comparative 
poverty  and  driven  to  sell  his  library  for  subsistence. 

Nor  was  his  home  a  happy  one.  His  temper  had  become 
stern  and  exacting.  His  daughters,  who  were  forced  to 
read  to  their  blind  father  in  languages  which  they  could  5 
not  understand,. revolted  against  their  bondage.  But  soli- 
tude and  misfortune  only  brought  into  bolder  relief  Mil- 
ton's inner  greatness.  There  was  a  grand  simplicity  in 
the  life  of  his  later  years.  He  listened  every  morning  to  a 
chapter  of  the  Hebrew  Bible  and  then  pursued  his  studies  10 
until  midday.  Then  he  took  exercise  for  an  hour,  played 
for  another  hour  upon  the  organ  or  viol,  and  renewed  his 
studies.  The  evening  was  spent  in  converse  with  visitors 
and  friends.  For,  lonely  and  unpopular  as  Milton  was, 
there  was  one  thing  about  him  which  made  his  house  a  15 
place  of  pilgrimage.  He  was  the  last  of  the  Elizabethans. 
Possibly  he  had  seen  Shakespeare.  His  Comns  had  rivaled 
the  masques  of  Ben  Jonson.  It  was  with  a  reverence 
drawn  from  thoughts  like  these  that  men  looked  on 
the  blind  poet  as  he  sat,  clad  in  black,  in  his  chamber  20 
hung  with  rusty  green  tapestry,  his  brown  hair  falling 
as  of  old  over  a  calm,  serene  face,  his.  cheeks  delicately 
colored,  his  clear  gray  eyes  showing  no  trace  of  their 
blindness. 

During  these  years  of  persecution  and  loneliness  he  25 
mused  on  his  great  poem,  Paradise  Lost.    It  was  pub- 
lished in  1667,  and  four  years  later  Paradise  Regained 


462 

and  Samson  Agonistes  appeared.  Great  as  the  two  last 
works  were,  their  greatness  was  eclipsed  by  that  of  their 
predecessor,  in  which  the  poet's  whole  genius  expressed 
itself.     Whatever  was  highest  and  best  in  the  Puritan 

5  temper  spoke  in  the  nobleness  and  elevation  of  the  poem, 
in  its  purity  of  tone,  in  its  loftiness  of  conception,  in  its 
ordered  and  equable  realization  of  a  great  purpose. 

The  great  poem  of  Milton  was,  however,  the  epic  of  a 
fallen  cause.     Puritanism  had  laid  down  the  sword.    It 

10  ceased  from  the  long  attempt  to  build  up  the  kingdom  of 
God  by  force  and  violence,  and  fell  back  on  its  truer  work 
of  building  up  a  kingdom  of  righteousness  in  the  hearts 
and  consciences  of  men.  It  was  from  the  moment  of  its 
seeming  fall  that  its   real  victory  began.     Slowly  but 

15  steadily  it  introduced  its  own  seriousness  and  purity  into 
English  society,  English  literature,  and  English  politics. 

humane  letters  :  literature  tending  to  refine  or  "  humanize."  —  ascetic  : 
rigidly  self-denying.  —  temper  :  character.  —  without  the  pale  :  beyond 
the  boundary.  A  pale  was  an  inclosed  space  or  field.  —  Cromwell :  the 
leader  of  the  Puritan  army.  —  Marston  Moor :  a  celebrated  battle  field 
where  in  1614  the  royal  forces  were  defeated.  —  horseplay :  vulgar  jest- 
ing. —  the  king  :  Charles  I.  — the  Civil  War  :  a  rebellion  against  the  royal 
government.  —  the  Protector  :  Cromwell  assumed  this  title  on  the  overthrow 
of  the  monarchy.  —  the  Restoration:  in  1660  the  monarchy  was  restored. 
—  the  Elizabethans  (ellzabe'thans)':  those  who  lived  in  the  time  of  Queen 
Elizabeth.  —  Comus  :  a  pastoral  drama  or  "masque."  —  Ben  Jonson  :  a 
famous  English  dramatist  and  poet.  —  rusty  green  tapestry:  Richardson, 
an  English  painter,  is  the  authority  for  this  description Samson  Ago- 
nistes :  a  tragedy  constructed  after  the  strict  rules  of  the  Greek  drama.  Ago- 
nistes is  the  Greek  word  for  "a  straggler  "  or  "  a  champion."    See  page  426. 


403 
THE  HOUSE  BEAUTIFUL 

JOHX    BUNYAN 

John  BuNTAN  (1G28-1G88)  was  the  son  of  a  poor  tinker  of  Bedford- 
shire, England.  The  religious  excitement  of  the  century  made  a  great 
impression  upon  a  nature  that  was  peculiarly  imaginative  and  emotional. 
While  in  confinement  for  holding  illegal  religious  meetings  he  wrote  a 
book  called  The  Pilgrim's  Progress,  which  is  nowT  considered  one  of  the  5 
three  great  allegories  of  the  world's  literature,  the  others  being  Dante's 
Divine  Comedy  and  Spenser's  Faerie  Queene.  Six  years  after  his  release 
from  prison  his  work  was  published.  The  charm  of  his  style,  so  quaint 
and  graphic  and  yet  so  rich  and  lyrical,  made  the  book  one  of  the  most 
widely  read  of  his  own  time  and  of  the  succeeding  centuries.  10 

Note.  The  Pilgrim,  in  Bunyan's  allegory,  is  an  earnest  soul  desirous 
of  leading  a  good  life,  and  his  story  is  of  the  temptations  and  dangers  he 
has  to  face.  The  author  presents  his  narrative  in  the  form  of  a  dream. 
The  Pilgrim,  on  his  way  to  the  city  of  Zion,  meets  two  frightened  trav- 
elers. Timorous  and  Mistrust,  who  warn  him  of  lions  in  the  path.  But  he  15 
goes  bravely  on,  and  presently  he  sees  a  very  stately  palace  before  him,  the 
name  of  which  is  Beautiful,  and  it  stands  by  the  highway  side. 

So  I  saw  in  my  dream  that  he  made  haste  and  went 
forward  that,  if  possible,  he  might  get  lodging  there.  Now 
before  he  had  gone  far  he  entered  into  a  \ery  narrow  20 
passage,  which  was  about  a  furlong  off  the  porter's  lodge ; 
and  looking  very  narrowly  before  him  as  he  went,  he  espied 
two  lions  in  the  way.  Now,  thought  he,  I  see  the  danger 
that  Mistrust  and  Timorous  were  driven  back  by.  (The 
lions  were  chained,  but  he  saw  not  the  chains.)  Then  he  25 
was  afraid  and  thought  also  himself  to  go  back  after 
them,  for  he  thought  nothing  but  death  was  before  him. 


464 

But  the  porter  at  the  lodge,  whose  name  is  Watchful, 
perceiving  that  he  made  a  halt,  as  if  he  would  go  back, 
cried  unto  him,  saying,  "  Is  thy  strength  so  small  ?  Fear 
not  the  lions,  for  they  are  chained  and  are  placed  there 
5  for  trial  of  faith  where  it  is,  and  for  discovery  of  those 
that  have  none.  Keep  in  the  midst  of  the  path  and  no 
hurt  shall  come  unto  thee." 

Then  I  saw  that  he  went  on,  trembling  for  fear  of  the 
lions ;  but  taking  good  heed  to  the  directions  of  the  porter, 

10  he  heard  them  roar,  but  they  did  him  no  harm.  Then  he 
clapped  his  hands,  and  went  on  till  he  came  and  stood 
before  the  gate  where  the  porter  was.  Then  said  he  to 
the  porter,  "  Sir,  what  house  is  this  ?  And  may  I  lodge 
here  to-night  ?  " 

15  The  porter  answered,  "  This  house  was  built  by  the 
Lord  of  the  hill,  and  he  built  it  for  the  relief  and  security 
of  pilgrims."  This  porter  also  asked  whence  he  was,  and 
whither  he  was  going.  The  Pilgrim  answered,  "  I  am  come 
from  the  city  of  Destruction,  and  am  going  to  Mount  Zion  ; 

20  but,  because  the  sun  is  now  set,  I  desire,  if  I  may,  to  lodge 
here  to-night."  .  .  . 

"  Well,"  said  the  porter,  "  I  will  call  out  one  of  the  vir- 
gins of  this  place  who  will,  if  she  likes  your  talk,  bring 
you  in  to  the  rest  of  the  family  according  to  the  rules  of 

25  the  house." 

So  Watchful,  the  porter,  rang  a  bell,  at  the  sound  of 
which  came  out  at  the  door  of  the  house  a  grave  and 


465 

beautiful  damsel,  named  Discretion,  and  asked  why  she 
was  called. 

The  porter  answered,  "  This  man  is  on  a  journey  from 
the  city  of  Destruction  to  Mount  Zion  ;  but  being  weary 
and  benighted  he  asked  me  if  he  might  lodge  here  to-  5 
night :  so  I  told  him  I  would  call  for  thee,  who,  after  dis- 
course had  with  him,  may  est  do  as  seemeth  thee  good, 
even  according  to  the  law  of  the  house." 

Then  she  asked  him  whence  he  was  and  whither  he  was 
going,  and  he  told  her.  She  asked  him  also  how  he  got  10 
into  the  way,  and  he  told  her.  Then  she  asked  him  what 
he  had  seen  and  met  with  in  the  way,  and  he  told  her. 
And  at  last  she  asked  his  name.  So  he  said,  "  It  is  Chris- 
tian :  and  I  have  so  much  the  more  a  desire  to  lodge  here 
to-night,  because,  by  what  I  perceive,  this  place  was  built  by  15 
the  Lord  of  the  hill  for  the  relief  and  security  of  pilgrims." 

So  she  smiled,  but  the  water  stood  in  her  eyes ;  and 
after  a  little  pause  she  said,  "  I  will  call  forth  two  or 
three  more  of  the  family."  So  she  ran  to  the  door  and 
called  out  Prudence,  Piety,  and  Charity,  who  after  a  little  20 
more  discourse  with  him,  led  him  in  to  the  family;  and 
many  of  them  meeting  him  at  the  threshold  of  the  house 
said,  "  Come  in,  thou  blessed  of  the  Lord ;  this  house  was 
built  by  the  Lord  of  the  hill  on  purpose  to  entertain  such 
pilgrims  in."  25 

Then  he  bowed  his  head  and  followed  them  into  the 
house.    So  when  he  was  come  in  and  set  down,  they  gave 


466 


him  something  to  drink  and  consented  together  that  until 
supper  was  ready,  some  of  them  should  have  some  par- 
ticular discourse  with  him  for  the  best  improvement  of 
time. 

5  Now  I  saw  in  my  dream  that  thus  they  sat  talking  to- 
gether until  supper  was  ready,  and  until  late  at  night. 
And  after  they  had  committed  themselves  to  their  Lord 
for  protection,  they  betook  themselves  to  rest.  The  pil- 
grim they  laid  in  a  large  upper  chamber,  whose  window 

10  opened  toward  the  sun  rising :  the  name  of  the  chamber 
was  Peace,  where  he  slept  till  break  of  day.         Abridged 

allegory  :  a  story  with  a  figurative  meaning.  —  furlong  :  an  eighth  of  a 
mile.  —  virgins  :  maidens.  —  benighted  :  overtaken  by  darkness.  —  seemeth 
thee :  seemeth  to  thee.  Note  the  likeness  between  the  language  used  here 
and  that  of  the  King  James  translation  of  the  Bible,  which  had  been  fin- 
ished about  fifty  years  before  Bunyan  wrote  his  great  book. 


407 
ELEGY  WRITTEN  IN  A  COUNTRY  CHURCHYARD 

Thomas  Gray 

Thomas  Gray  (1716-1771)  was  an  English  poet  and  scholar. 

Note.  The  Elegy  is  perhaps  the  most  finished  poem  in  our  literature. 
It  was  begun  in  1742,  but  was  laid  aside  and  not  completed  until  1750.  It 
gained  immediate  favor  and  is  still  regarded  as  worthy  of  the  highest 
praise.  5 

The  curfew  tolls  the  knell  of  parting  day, 
The  lowing  herd  wind  slowly  o'er  the  lea, 

The  plowman  homeward  plods  his  weary  way, 
And  leaves  the  world  to  darkness  and  to  me. 

Now  fades  the  glimmering  landscape  on  the  sight,       io 
And  all  the  air  a  solemn  stillness  holds, 

Save  where  the  beetle  wheels  his  droning  flight, 
And  drowsy  tinklings  lull  the  distant  folds ; 

Save  that  from  yonder  ivy-mantled  tower 

The  moping  owl  does  to  the  moon  complain  16 

Of  such  as,  wandering  near  her  secret  bower, 
Molest  her  ancient,  solitary  reign. 

Beneath  those  rugged  elms,  that  yew-tree's  shade, 
Where  heaves  the  turf  in  many  a  moldering  heap, 

Each  in  his  narrow  cell  for  ever  laid,  ,20 

The  rude  forefathers  of  the  hamlet  sleep. 


468 

The  breezy  call  of  incense-breathing  morn, 

The  swallow  twittering  from  the  straw-built  shed, 

The  cock's  shrill  clarion,  or  the  echoing  horn, 
No  more  shall  rouse  them  from  their  lowly  bed. 

5      For  them  no  more  the  blazing  hearth  shall  burn, 
Or  busy  housewife  ply  her  evening  care ; 
No  children  run  to  lisp  their  sire's  return, 
Or  climb  his  knees  the  envied  kiss  to  share. 

Oft  did  the  harvest  to  their  sickle  yield, 
10  Their  furrow  oft  the  stubborn  glebe  has  broke ; 

How  jocund  did  they  drive  their  team  afield  ! 

How  bowed  the  woods  beneath  their  sturdy  stroke ! 

Let  not  Ambition  mock  their  useful  toil, 
Their  homely  joys,  and  destiny  obscure ; 
15      Nor  Grandeur  hear  with  a  disdainful  smile 
The  short  and  simple  annals  of  the  poor. 

The  boast  of  heraldry,  the  pomp  of  power, 

And  all  that  beauty,  all  that  wealth  e'er  gave, 
Awaits  alike  the  inevitable  hour : 
20  The  paths  of  glory  lead  but  to  the  grave. 

Nor  you,  ye  proud,  impute  to  these  the  fault 
If  Memory  o'er  their  tomb  no  trophies  raise, 

Where  through  the  long-drawn  aisle  and  fretted  vault 
The  pealing  anthem  swells  the  note  of  praise. 


469 

Can  storied  urn  or  animated  bust 

Back  to  its  mansion  call  the  fleeting  breath  ? 
Can  Honor's  voice  provoke  the  silent  dust, 

Or  Flattery  soothe  the  dull  cold  ear  of  death  ? 

Perhaps  in  this  neglected  spot  is  laid  5 

Some  heart  once  pregnant  with  celestial  fire ; 

Hands,  that  the  rod  of  empire  might  have  swayed, 
Or  waked  to  ecstasy  the  living  lyre : 

But  Knowledge  to  their  eyes  her  ample  page, 

Rich  with  the  spoils  of  time,  did  ne'er  unroll ;  10 

Chill  Penury  repressed  their  noble  rage, 
And  froze  the  genial  current  of  the  soul. 

Full  many  a  gem  of  purest  ray  serene 

The  dark,  unfathomed  caves  of  ocean  bear  : 

Full  many  a  flower  is  born  to  blush  unseen,  15 

And  waste  its  sweetness  on  the  desert  air. 

Some  village  Hampden,  that  with  dauntless  breast 
The  little  tyrant  of  his  fields  withstood, 

Some  mute,  inglorious  Milton  here  may  rest, 

Some  Cromwell,  guiltless  of  his  country's  blood.       20 

The  applause  of  listening  senates  to  command, 
The  threats  of  pain  and  ruin  to  despise, 

To  scatter  plenty  o'er  a  smiling  land, 

And  read  their  history  in  a  nation's  eyes, 


470 

Their  lot  forbade  :  nor  circumscribed  alone 

Their  growing  virtues,  but  their  Grimes  confined ; 

Forbade  to  wade  through  slaughter  to  a  throne, 
And  shut  the  gates  of  mercy  on  mankind ; 

5      The  struggling  pangs  of  conscious  truth  to  hide, 
To  quench  the  blushes  of  ingenuous  shame, 
Or  heap  the  shrine  of  luxury  and  pride 
With  incense  kindled  at  the  Muse's  flame. 

Far  from  the  madding  crowd's  ignoble  strife 
10  Their  sober  wishes  never  learned  to  stray ; 

Along  the  cool  sequestered  vale  of  life 

They  kept  the  noiseless  tenor  of  their  way.  . 

Yet  e'en  these  bones  from  insult  to  protect, 
Some  frail  memorial  still  erected  nigh, 
15      With  uncouth  rhymes  and  shapeless  sculpture  decked, 
Implores  the  passing  tribute  of  a  sigh. 

Their  names,  their  years,  spelt  by  the  unlettered  Muse, 

The  place  of  fame  and  elegy  supply ; 
And  many  a  holy  text  around  she  strews, 
20  That  teach  the  rustic  moralist  to  die. 

For  who,  to  dumb  forgetfulness  a  prey, 
This  pleasing,  anxious  being  e'er  resigned, 

Left  the  warm  precincts  of  the  cheerful  day, 
Nor  cast  one  longing,  lingering  look  behind  ? 


471 

On  some  fond  breast  the  parting  soul  relies, 
Some  pious  drops  the  closing  eye  requires ; 

E'en  from  the  tomb  the  voice  of  nature  cries ; 
E'en  in  our  ashes  live  their  wonted  fires. 

For  thee,  who,  mindful  of  the  unhonored  dead,  5 

Dost  in  these  lines  their  artless  tale  relate ; 

If  chance,  by  lonely  contemplation  led, 

Some  kindred  spirit  shall  inquire  thy  fate,  — 

Haply  some  hoary-headed  swain  may  say, 

"  Oft  have  we  seen  him  at  the  peep  of  dawn  10 

Brushing,  with  hasty  steps,  the  dews  away, 
To  meet  the  sun  upon  the  upland  lawn. 

"  There,  at  the  foot  of  yonder  nodding  beech, 
That  wreathes  its  old  fantastic  roots  so  high, 

His  listless  length  at  noontide  would  he  stretch,  15 

And  pore  upon  the  brook  that  babbles  by. 

"  Hard  by  yon  wood,  now  smiling  as  in  scorn, 
Muttering  his  wayward  fancies  he  would  rove ; 

Now  drooping,  woeful-wan,  like  one  forlorn, 

Or  crazed  with  care,  or  crossed  in  hopeless  love.       20 

a  One  morn  I  missed  him  on  the  customed  hill, 
.Along  the  heath,  and  near  his  favorite  tree ; 

Another  came ;   nor  yet  beside  the  rill, 
Nor  up  the  lawn,  nor  at  the  wood  was  he. 


472 

"  The  next  with  dirges  due  in  sad  array 

Slow  through  the  church-way  path  we  saw  him  borne, — 
Approach  and  read  (for  thou  canst  read)  the  lay 

Graved  on  the  stone  beneath  yon  aged  thorn." 

The  Epitaph 

5  Here  rests,  his  head  upon  the  lap  of  Earth, 
A  Youth,  to  Fortune  and  to  Fame  unknown ; 
Fair  Science  frowned  not  on  his  humble  birth, 
And  Melancholy  marked  him  for  her  own. 

Large  was  his  bounty,  and  his  soul  sincere ; 
10      Heaven  did  a  recompense  as  largely  send : 
He  gave  to  Misery  all  he  had,  a  tear ; 

He  gained  from  Heaven  ('t  was  all  he  wished)  a  friend. 

No  further  seek  his  merits  to  disclose, 

Or  draw  his  frailties  from  their  dread  abode, 
15  (There  they  alike  in  trembling  hope  repose,) 
The  bosom  of  his  Father  and  his  God. 

curfew :  a  bell  rung  at  bedtime.  In  the  early  days  of  English  history 
it  was  the  signal  to  cover  the  fires  of  the  household  and  go  to  bed.  The 
summer  twilight  in  England,  it  must  be  remembered,  lasts  much  longer 

than  in  America lea  :  open  field  or  meadow.  —  save  :  except.  —  glebe  : 

ground  ;  earth.  —  broke :  an  old  form  still  used  in  poetry.  —  joc'und : 
merry.  — awaits,  etc. :  an  inverted  sentence  of  which  hour  is  the  subject.  — 
fretted  :  carved.  —  pregnant  with  celestial  fire  :  filled  with  celestial  fire.  — 
living  :  waking  to  life  ;  animating.  —  Hampden  :  a  noted  English  states- 
man and  patriot.  —  madding  :   mad.  —  e'en  :  even melancholy  :  the  love 

of  meditation,  thoughtfulness  ;  a  somewhat  rare  use  of  the  word. 


473 


THE  SECRET  OF  SUCCESS 


Andrew  D.   White 


Andrew  I).  White  (1632-         )  is  an  eminent  American  scholar  and 

diplomat. 

Note.  The  following  pages  are  the  conclusion  of  a  lecture  on  "  The 
Statesmanship  of  Bismarck,"  delivered  July  13,4909,  before  the  summer 
session  of  Cornell  University. 

Something  less 
than  a  year  since,  I 
passed  a  day  amid 
my  old  haunts  on 
the  shore  of  the  Ger- 
man Ocean  and  vis- 
ited Friedrichsruhe, 
the  second  of  the  two 
great  estates  given 
Bismarck  in  grati- 
tude for  his  services 
to  his  country. 

There  it  was  that 
he  had  passed  the 
happiest  years  of  his 
later  life.  In  those 
broad  forests  I  trod 


Prince  Bismarck 
(After  a  painting  by  Franz  von  Lenburh) 


his  favorite  paths,  rested  in  his  accustomed  seats,  looked 
forth  over  the  prospects  which  he  had  most  enjoyed.    In 


474 

the  old,  hospitable  mansion  I  lingered  in  the  room  where 
he  died,  all  things  in  it  remaining  as  at  his  death  hour ; 
sat  in  his  workroom,  at  his  table.  In  the  rooms  where  he 
was  wont  to  lavish  hospitality  I  talked  with  his  grandson, 
5  the  heir  to  his  title,  a  bright  boy  of  twelve  years,  and  he 
seemed  to  welcome  kindly  my  hope  expressed  to  him  that 
he  would  bear  worthily  his  great  name.  Noteworthy  were 
the  manifold  tokens  of  love  and  gratitude  from  the  fellow- 
citizens  of  the  great  Chancellor,  among  them  a  striking 

10  copy  of  the  picture  representing  him  standing  before  the 
emperor  William  the  First,  in  the  sumptuous  hall  of  Louis 
the  Fourteenth  at  Versailles,  and  announcing  to  the  world 
the  German  Empire. 

But  one  thing  remained,  of  deeper  interest  than  all  else. 

15  Hard  by,  in  a  chapel  of  plain  hewn  stone,  was  his  tomb,  a 
single  block  of  granite  above  it,  bearing  the  simple  words 
which  he  had  ordered  placed  upon  it :  "  Prince  Bismarck 
—  a  faithful  servant  of  Kaiser  William  the  First."  Sig- 
nificant of  much  is  it  that  no  mention  is  made  of  the  two 

20  succeeding  emperors  whom  he  served.  But  of  far  deeper 
significance  is  the  inscription  over  the  adjacent  altar.  In 
letters  of  gold  it  gives  Bismarck's  favorite  text,  that  which 
Schleiermacher  placed  in  his  hands  at  his  confirmation  in 
his  boyhood,  words  of  St.  Paul  to  the  Colossians :  "  Do  it 

25  heartily,  as  to  the  Lord,  and  not  unto  men." 

There   is   the   key   to    Bismarck's   character,   without 
which  no  man  can  understand  him.    Faults  he  had,  and 


475 

great  faults  ;  errors  lie  committed,  and  great  errors  ;  but 
at  the  foundation  of  the  whole  man  was  his  loyalty  to 
duty,  and  this  was  enforced  by  his  unconquerable  will. 
This  it  was  which  gave  him  that  success  which  astonished 
the  world,  —  which  made  him  the  greatest  German  since  5 
Luther,  and  one  of  the  greatest  men  who  ever  lived. 

My  friends,  you  are  entering  life  ;  I  am  leaving  it.  Let 
me  tell  you  that  his  key  to  success  is  yours.  I  have 
seen  sixty  successive  generations  of  students  graduated 
at  American  colleges  and  universities,  forty-two  of  them  10 
here  at  Cornell.  I  have  watched  their  after  careers. 
Some  who  seemed  likely  to  succeed  have  failed  ;  some 
who  seemed  likely  to  fail  have  made  successes.  And  it 
has  become  clear  to  me  that  the  great  secret  of  all  suc- 
cess worth  having  is  character  —  sound,  solid,  truthful,  15 
wholesome  character  —  based  upon  a  sense  of  duty  and 
enforced  by  a  strong  will.  Without  this  you  will  have 
no  success  worth  having.  With  this  all  the  success  worth 
having  is  sure. 

Friedrichsruhe  (fred'riks  rua)  :  -;  Frederick's  rest."  —  Bismarck :  a  great 
Prussian  statesman,  who  brought  about  the  union  of  the  small  German 
states  into  one  powerful  empire.  After  the  war  with  France  (1870-1871) 
he  dictated  the  terms  of  peace  and  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  King 
William  of  Prussia  crowned  emperor  of  Germany  in  the  palace  of  the 
French  kings.  Bismarck  was  made  Chancellor  a  few  days  later.  — 
Versailles  (vair  say)  :  a  royal  palace  near  Paris  ;  it  was  the  headquarters 
of  the  German  invaders.  — Kaiser  (ki'zer)  :  Emperor.  —  Schleiermacher 
(shli'er  mas  er)  :  a  famous  preacher  and  professor.  — Luther  :  the  founder 
of  Protestantism. 


476 


TO  AUTUMN 


John  Keats 


10 


Season  of  mists  and  mellow  fruitfulness ! 

Close  bosom-friend  of  the  maturing  sun ; 
Conspiring  with  him  how  to  load  and  bless 

With  fruit  the  vines  that  round  the  thatch-eaves  run; 
To  bend  with  apples  the  mossed  cottage-trees, 

And  fill  all  fruit  with  ripeness  to  the  core ; 

To  swell  the  gourd,  and  plump  the  hazel  shells 

With  a  sweet  kernel ;  to  set  budding  more, 
And  still  more,  later  flowers  for  the  bees, 
Until  they  think  warm  days  will  never  cease, 

For  Summer  has  o'er-brimmed  their  clammy  cells. 


477 

Who  hath  not  seen  thee  oft  amid  thy  store  ? 

Sometimes  whoever  seeks  abroad  may  find 
Thee  sitting  careless  on  a  granary  floor, 

Thy  hair  soft-lifted  by  the  winnowing  wind ; 
Or  on  a  half-reaped  furrow  sound  asleep,  5 

Drowsed  with  the  fume  of  poppies,  while  thy  hook 
Spares  the  next  swath  and  all  its  twined  flowers : 
And  sometimes  like  a  gleaner  thou  dost  keep 

Steady  thy  laden  head  across  a  brook ; 

Or  by  a  cider-press,  with  patient  look,  10 

Thou  watchest  the  last  oozings,  hours  by  hours. 

Where  are  the  songs  of  Spring  ?   Ay,  where  are  they  ? 

Think  not  of  them,  thou  hast  thy  music  too,  — 
While  barred  clouds  bloom  the  soft-dying  day, 

And  touch  the  stubble-plains  with  rosy  hue ;  15 

Then  in  a  wailful  choir  the  small  gnats  mourn 

Among  the  river  sallows,  borne  aloft 

Or  sinking  as  the  light  wind  lives  or  dies ; 
And  full-grown  lambs  loud  bleat  from  hilly  bourn ; 

Hedge-crickets  sing ;  and  now  with  treble  soft  20 

The  redbreast  whistles  from  a  garden-croft, 
And  gathering  swallows  twitter  in  the  skies. 

gran'ary :  a  storehouse  for  grain. — fume  of  poppies:  opium,  a  drug 
which  induces  sleep,  is  obtained  from  poppies.  —  sallows  :  willows.  — 
bourn  :  boundary.  —  croft :  a  small  inclosed  piece  of  land.  —  gathering 
swallows  :  the  swallows  gather  for  their  migration  early  in  the  autumn. 


478 
THE  PRICE  OF  WAR 

David  Starr  Jordan 

David  Starr  Jordan  (1851-  )  is  a  well-known  American  author 
who  for  many  years  has  been  the  president  of  Leland  Stanford  Junior 
University  in  California. 

Note.    The  following  are  brief  selections  from  Dr.  Jordan's  essay. 

5  There  was  once  a  time  when  the  struggles  of  armies 
resulted  in  a  survival  of  the  fittest,  when  the  race  was  in- 
deed to  the  swift  and  the  battle  to  the  strong.  The  in- 
vention of  gunpowder  has  changed  all  this.  Except  in  the 
kind  of  warfare  called  guerilla,  the  quality  of  the  individ- 

10  ual  has  ceased  to  be  much  of  a  factor.  There  is  little  play 
for  selection  in  modern  war  save  what  is  shown  in  the 
process  of  enlistment. 

America  has  grown  strong  with  the  strength  of  peace, 
the  spirit  of  democracy.    Her  wars  have  been  few.    Were 

15  it  not  for  the  mob  spirit  they  would  have  been  still  fewer ; 
but  in  most  of  them  she  could  not  choose  but  fight.  Vol- 
unteer soldiers  have  swelled  her  armies,  men  who  went 
forth  of  their  own  free  will,  knowing  whither  they  were 
going,  believing  their  acts  to  be  right,  and  taking  patiently 

20  whatever  the  fates  might  hold  in  store.  .  .  . 

It  was  at  Lexington  that "  the  embattled  farmers  "  "  fired 
the  shot  heard  round  the  world."  To  them  life  was  of  less 
value  than  a  principle,  the  principle  Written  by  Cromwell 
on  the  statute  book  of  Parliament.   "  All  just  powers  under 


479 

God  are  derived  from  the  consent  of  the  people."  Since 
the  War  of  the  Revolution  many  patriotic  societies  have 
arisen,  finding  their  inspiration  in  personal  descent  from 
those  who  fought  for  American  independence.  The  assump- 
tion, well  justified  by  facts,  is  that  these  were  a  superior  5 
t}rpe  of  men,  and  that  to  have  had  such  names  in  our  per- 
sonal ancestry  is  of  itself  a  cause  for  thinking  more  highly 
of  ourselves.  In  our  little  private  round  of  peaceful  duties 
we  feel  that  we  might  have  wrought  the  deeds  of  Putnam 
and  Allen,  of  Marion  and  Greene,  of  our  Revolutionary  an-  10 
cestors,  whoever  they  may  have  been.  But  if  those  who 
survived  were  nobler  than  the  mass,  so  also  were  those  who 
fell.  If  we  go  over  the  records  of  brave  men  and  wise 
women  whose  fathers  fought  at  Lexington,  we  must  think 
also  of  the  men  and  women  who  shall  never  be,  whose  15 
right  to  exist  was  cut  short  at  this  same  battle.  It  is  a 
costly  thing  to  kill  off  men,  for  in  men  alone  can  national 
greatness  consist.  .  .   . 

We  can  never  know  what  might  have  been.  We  can 
never  know  how  great  is  our  actual  loss,  nor  can  we  20 
know  how  far  the  men  that  are  fall  short  of  the  men  that 
ought  to  have  been.  It  may  be  that  the  vexing  problems 
of  to-day,  the  problems  of  greed  and  lawlessness,  would  be 
easier  if  we  had  the  men  who  ought  to  have  been  to  help 
us  in  their  settlement.   ...  25 

How  long  will  the   republic  endure  ?    So  long  as  the 
ideas  of  its  founders  remain  dominant,    How  long  will 


480 

these  ideas  remain  dominant?  Just  so  long  as  the  blood 
of  its  founders  remains  dominant  in  the  blood  of  its  people. 
Not  the  blood  of  the  Puritans  and  the  Virginians  alone, 
the  original  creators  of  free  states.  We  must  not  read  our 
5  history  so  narrowly  as  that.  It  is  the  blood  of  free-born 
men,  whoever  they  may  be,  which  creates  a  free  nation. 
Our  republic  shall  endure  so  long  as  the  human  harvest  is 
good,  so  long  as  the  movement  of  history,  the  progress  of 
science  and  industry,  leaves  for  the  future  not  the  worst 

10  but  the  best  of  each  generation.    The  republic  of  Rome 

lasted   so   long  as  there  were  Romans  ;    the  republic  of 

America  will  last  so  long  as  its  people,  in  blood  and  in 

spirit,  remain  what  we  have  learned  to  call  Americans.  .  .  . 

War  is  bad,  only  to  be  justified  as  the  last  resort  of  "  man- 

15  gled,  murdered  liberty,"  a  terrible  agency  to  be  evoked  only 
when  all  other  arts  of  self-defense  shall  fail.  The  remedy 
for  most  ills  of  men  is  not  to  be  sought  in  "whirlwinds  of 
rebellion  that  shake  the  world,"  but  in  peace  and  justice, 
equality  among  men,  and  the  cultivation  of  those  virtues 

20  which  have  been  virtues  ever  since  man  and  society  began, 
and  will  be  virtues  still  when  the  era  of  strife  is  past. 

It  is  the  voice  of  political  wisdom,  the  expression  of  the 
best  political  economy  which  falls  from  the- bells  of  Christ- 
mas tide  :  "  Peace  on  earth,  good  will  toward  men  !  " 

"the  embattled  farmers"  :  a  quotation  from  Emerson's  ''Concord  Hymn. " 
—  Putnam  and  Allen,  Marion  and  Greene  :  Revolutionary  heroes. 


481 
THE  PARTING  OF  THE  WAYS 

Joseph  B.  Gilder 

Joseph  B.   Gilder  is  an  American  journalist.    The  following  poem 
was  printed  in  1900. 

Untrammeled  Giant  of  the  West, 

With  all  of  Nature's  gifts  endowed, 
With  all  of  Heaven's  mercies  blessed,  5 

Nor  of  thy  power  unduly  proud  — 
Peerless  in  courage,  force,  and  skill, 
And  godlike  in  thy  strength  of  wTill,  — 

Before  thy  feet  the  ways  divide : 

One  path  leads  up  to  heights  sublime ;  10 

Downward  the  other  slopes,  where  bide 

The  refuse  and  the  wrecks  of  Time. 
Choose  then,  nor  falter  at  the  start, 
0  choose  the  nobler  path  and  part ! 

Be  thou  the  guardian  of  the  weak,  15 

Of  the  unfriended,  thou  the  friend ; 
No  guerdon  for  thy  valor  seek, 

No  end  beyond  the  avowed  end. 
Wouldst  thou  thy  godlike  power  preserve, 
Be  godlike  in  the  will  to  serve  !  20 

Giant  of  the  West :   a  name  justified  by  the  marvelous  growth  of  the 
United  States.  —  guerdon  (ger'don)  :  reward. 


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